The New Mark Affair
by JMK758
Summary: When death comes to NCIS, all 12 teams combine efforts to solve the long running mystery that has plagued them since the First Season. Scientists are missing, a threat to the entire world develops, Tony DiNozzo faces a life-altering experience, familiar faces return, the future is established and it's the End of an Era.
1. Tumult

This is my 40th NCIS Mystery, the story to cap my Fourth Season. I'm pleased to announce that it's also my 100th FanFiction posting.  
NCIS is owned by Belisarius Productions. The usual legal Disclaimers about not making money nor claiming the characters apply. I only own Rev. Siobhan (O'Mallory) McGee, Apprentice Pathologist Dr. Samantha Sky and original Agents. You can find all my stories listed in order in my Profile.  
For Dramatic reasons, minor details of the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC) have been adjusted.  
My many Affairs are an homage to David McCallum.  
Rated T or NCis-17  
Please Review.

The New Mark Affair  
by JMK758  
Chapter One  
Tumult

Janet Levy pushes open the apartment door and her parents Ira and Sarah follow her in. It had been a good walk in the August heat, but as the hour closes on 11, or 2300 by Janet's reckoning, the unwinding of the day can now make way for sleep. Ira, as she has always known him in summer outdoors, is dressed in white shirt under now open black vest and black trousers, the gray ringlets before his ears flirting with his glasses. Sarah, less traditional, wears a more comfortable house dress. Janet, least traditional, chose a green tee shirt over jeans.

Sarah turns on the large television in the living room and the words the Newswoman on the screen says snaps their attentions.

"-tro Police are still withholding details on the shooting of a Federal Agent in DC an hour ago."

"Oh dear," Sarah says, her voice heavy with sympathy.

"They lead such lives," Ira says to his daughter. "That is why I am glad that you are out."

"Dad, please."

"- ities have released only that there had been an exchange of gunfire on Tilden Street in Spring Valley between unidentified gunmen and Federal Agents." Janet's attention already high, these words sharpen it. Being an Agent herself, she has known too many close calls but then a too familiar face appears inset in the upper left corner of the screen. It's the official portrait photo of

"Special Agent Lisa DuBois,"

"Oh My GOD!"

"of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service,"

"LEESE!"

"suffered multiple gunshot wounds in the exchange where two assailants were killed. She has been rushed to Sibley Memorial.

"We take you to Eileen DiSalvo on the scene with a Live report."

x

Janet grasps the chair back, shaking, breath rapid as shock edges into terror and the image changes to an outside night shot of the hospital behind an intense woman holding a ZNN microphone. There's a crowd of vehicles behind her, most of which display a variety of colored flashing lights. Janet instantly picks out the black and white MCR truck, but her attention is on the woman with the microphone.

"Donna, we're here at Sibley Memorial where Special Agent Lisa DuBois of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service was admitted with multiple gunshot wounds. There are numerous Officials on the scene but so far we have limited information. Special Agent DuBois is listed in Critical condition and is currently in surgery."

Janet feels the fist clenching her heart crush and twist as her breath races.

"We're told the gunmen were killed in a firefight with one or more agents. Just a moment." She turns left, her hand out. "Sir? Please! Just a moment, please."

The view expands to a too-familiar man in black cap and summer field jacket, "I'm here with Deputy Special Agent-in-Charge Leroy Gibbs. Agent Gibbs," she pushes the microphone toward his mouth. "What can you tell us, sir?"

"Nothing."

"Have you any statement?"

"Just got here."

"How is Agent DuBois?"

"You know more than I do."

The next view is of his receding back.

DiSalvo recovers the center scene. "We will bring you more information as soon as it becomes available."

Janet pulls her cell phone from her jeans pocket. It's off! She'd turned it off for a quiet evening. It takes forever to boot up and the screen glares at her. '11 Missed Calls', '9 Voice Messages' and '5 Text Messages'.

"OH MY GOD!" She fights tears, rips her car keys from her pocket and turns. Ira has his black summer coat and wide black hat back on, his own keys in his hand.

"You pray, Janaleh, I will drive. Come, mother."

xx

In the car Janet, seated next to Ira, Sarah in the back, keeps her hands pressed to her mouth, not to contain her tears and terror but rather to hold back the scream to her father to drive faster. She grants his speed is high of legal but she wants to get across the District and to her partner _Now_. She's run through the texts and voice messages, they tell her little more detail than the radio does. That simply repeats the basic sparse information, she turns the dial and a new voice finally gets around to saying the same news in different words.

She won't call anyone; no point in distracting anyone when she'll be there and ready to help - yeah, help - shortly.

She'd been with Leese a few hours ago. A _damned_ _few_ _hours_! She should have gone with her and screw Regulations!

They'd talked about Jan's future children, her long dream of children. This time she'd settled (for now) on a boy and girl, astronaut and concert pianist. Last time it'd been two girls and three boys, at one time it had been five boys and four girls. Or was it five girls and four boys? Either way it was the first mixed Major League Baseball Team. No matter what, the pleasant dream of children has been her long enjoyed obsession, the plans the overwhelming center of her life.

And she wants to stay an Agent, a balancing act Jan can never conceive. Conceive. Agent and Mother, head of a team and nurturer of a brood.

'They're gonna carry me out of NCIS feet first," Jan had declared this evening, "after I'm Director. Carry me out of NCIS feet first, feet first, feet first….'

"Damned _Fuk_!" startles her proper parents as she rips her cell phone out and stabs the prime contact. It rings once.

/Lamb. Janet?/

" _How is she_?" Four eternities anyone else would call seconds, four eternities while a woman's loud summons comes out of some too loud speaker. "KEVIN?" The sounds recede, he must be looking for a quiet spot.

"Bad, Jan. She's bad."

The fist about her heart crushes it. "Oh God!" Tears tear at her, she won't let them out.

"Bastard shot her three times point blank. She went Critical even before the Ambulance got there. She's in surgery now."

"What do they say?"

"Nothing. They say nothing."

"We're..." she finds a sign, "on Nebraska passing Albemarle. We'll be there soon."

"Jan..." his voice drops. "Better prepare yourself."

"I'll prepare myself to find her _alive_!"

xx

By the time they arrive the huge building is lost to dark at its high top but illuminated from within and flashed by red, blue and yellow strobes and slashes of rotating light without but Janet cannot bring herself to look for omens in such things. Her omen comes when, looking for a parking space in the huge lot, they pass a vintage wooden Morgan, Ducky's distinctive vehicle.

As soon as they're parked Reporters, like sharks smelling fresh blood, converge on her father's door before he's fully through it. "A moment and I will tell you everything I know," he says and she runs toward the building.

It will take the Reporters some wasted moments to discover that their accommodating subject knows very little more than he'd learned from ZNN and from the car's radio.

Janet doesn't give any thought to anything but running and she sprints so fast, not for the main door up front but the side Emergency entrance, that when she reaches it it doesn't open in time to admit her and she bangs her shoulder on the frame while slipping through. When she charges into the receiving lobby she skids to a halt before more agents than she's seen in any one place in months.

Every face in the crowd is grim.

"SOMEBODY–" and her voice breaks. The loud word pulls scores of eyes to her. She fights for control, fights not to cry, for if she does she knows she won't be able to stop. She clamps her teeth together and forces the words through lips that barely move, "tell * me * _Something_!"

Kevin Lamb comes out from the group - she hadn't picked him out and that's bad - and approaches. Her heart turns over when she sees he's wearing an orange NCIS coverall with Forensics embroidered on the pocket. It proclaims too well what had happened to his clothes.

"Kevin?"

"She's" he says in a voice that ends in a strangled whisper "still Critical."

x

She clamps her hands to her mouth because if she doesn't either a sob or a scream will break through.

"She's still in surgery, no estimate on how long. But they doing everything they can."

"Those Fu*king Bastards, are they _all_ Dead? No one got away?"

"There were two. Now there aren't."

She reaches out, he draws her into the hug and she tightens her face, fights hard, won't let the tears come, won't let them break through. As long as there's a chance, she's not going to cry.

If Leese dies, she'll cry. Until then...

xx

There is something about the danger to one of their own that pulls people together. Whatever their shift, whether or not they know her well and regardless of whether they can do anything, Agents continue to arrive from all over the District, all over the bi-State area, Active Duty and long Retired, the News report a call, wherever or however heard. Men and women having nothing in common in their lives other than a gold badge, continue to arrive and, barring specific work to do, they will stay until commiseration or relief moves them from their vigil.

When word comes that too many congregate in the Emergency anteroom they move to the Doctor's lounge closest to the ER and the overflow haunts the hallway outside it.

Near silence suffuses the rooms, no matter how many arrive; conversations conducted in whispers or, for some, eloquent looks. Some, like Chaplains Siobhan McGee and John Grant, who wear their NCIS CHAPLAIN jackets, Lt Cdr Melanie Burke, her uniform highlighted with crosses above her gold wrist bands and Psychiatrists Milton Gyves, Samantha Ryan and Rachel Cranston, the late Special Agent Kate Todd's sister, move undirected through the growing crowd, available to any who want to talk.

Pulled into a corner by Michelle, for the moment out of earshot of whispers, Jimmy listens to words he knew his wife was going to say even before they arrived. "I can't help it."

"Help it," he advises and tries very hard not to sound as callous to her as he does to himself.

"I keep thinking. She knew. Su Lin _knew_. It was so short a time. She knew this would happen."

"'Chelle–"

"She knew so much. She told us so much. If she'd warned us we could've–"

"'Chelle."

"She knew if Lisa lives - lived or died. She could've –"

"' _Chelle_."

"What?" It had taken her teeth grated name to get through and she sounds derailed.

"You know better."

x

"Damn it, I know I do," she whispers as softly as she can, sounding like she wants to scream it. "This is my lecture to you. I know she couldn't tell us any more than we can tell anyone about her or the ten thousand things she knows that we have to wait on time to beat us up over and over again over. We can't even say what our knowing what will happen changed what happened - will happen. But with whatever we do or don't do will there even _be_ a daughter waiting for us?"

"'Chelle..."

"I was going to call her Mai Ling but she's Su Lin. What else has–?"

"'Chelle, you're going to make yourself crazy."

" _How_ _do_ _you_ _know_ _I'm_ _not_ _already_?" grates through clenched teeth. He looks behind him, this has attracted glances but agents look away.

He keeps his voice as low, as level, as he can. He doesn't want Lisa DuBois on the table before him any more than he wants this discussion. "'Chelle, none of us can, but you are not crazy, neither am I, nor is our daughter. We have to take things day by day. We've been given a glimpse, a tiny glimpse, and it's enough for me to know our daughter, no matter what we call her, is going to turn out okay."

"How can you _know_?"

"We have to have faith that what she told us will come through, that we'll all be okay."

"She told us about a War!"

"She told us that we have to let things go as they will and be ready not to react but to act, with knowledge, when they do. And one of those things is to accept that there are things we are not meant to know."

Her hand goes to her womb. "I know! I know she's right because I'm certain _I'm_ the one who taught her, but with Lisa maybe dying–"

"Or surviving."

" _It_ _hurts_ _like_ _Tartarus_! I should go in there! I should Help!"

"You can't do that."

"Yes I Can!"

She can relieve pain, she can channel life energy to boost someone - as she did once for him - but "You can't do that while she's in surgery. Later, when she's in a room."

"There may not _be_ a later!"

"You can't go in there and use magic to sustain her."

"I Did It For You!"

"That was different."

"Right! This time it's not my husband!"

"Technically, I was your fiancé–"

" _Goddess damn it if you contradict me one more time I'll Slap Your Face Off_!"

Unseen until he's stepped beside them Tim McGee, her usual partner in the field, asks quietly "Hey, you guys okay?"

x

She looks high up into his eyes, then beyond him. There are a dozen agents pretending they hadn't noticed the commotion. She looks back to him. "No, Tim, I'm never going to be 'okay' ever again."

She turns and quickly walks down the corridor toward an uncertain future she knows too much about and can never speak of.

Neither man speaks. There's hardly a need. Tension is so high among those already here and being added to by new arrivals, no one expects there will be only a few emotional outbursts tonight.

xx

Michelle halts at the first secluded place she can find, a stretch of wall between two doors, hand clamped to her mouth, still unsure if it's a sob or a scream that batters her teeth. She raises her clenched hand before the wall but can't make herself move. 'Real mature, Palmer, standing in a hallway pounding on a wall. Great way to come off as a got-it-together adult.'

She lowers her hand, uses it to brace herself against the wall. 'I could do it. I _should_ do it. I should go home, cast a Circle…. But with that damned Life Source how can I do it? Those Solitaries sent their undirected, raw power out _through_ their Circle - stupid _asses_ \- but what if I–? No. I don't know. Do _I_ touch off this hell? Am I going to be the one who destroys things six years early?'

'History records that you warned Kendra Little tonight,' her daughter had said.

' _That's_ what I should do.'

xx

Inside the lounge, in the northeast corner, Jennifer Shepherd addresses her Lieutenants: Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Kevin Lamb, Fred Higgins, Melanie Kelman, Rosa Arnell, Rosemary Hauss, Thomas Baxter, Terry Leigh, Gene Blakey, Donna Kaiser, John Vinchense and Philip Maxwell. The Supervisors had been gathered when Shepherd had taken Lamb through his 'After Action' Report, wanting to go through the thing once for all to hear.

"You don't have to say it," Higgins says.

"No, I don't," she declares. "This was an ambush, only luck kept Lamb from going down too and how the Hell did they know when and where to hit?"

"They weren't watching Fisher's place," Hauss summarizes. "They were ready."

"They were imbeciles," Arnell counters. "They went for a Grandstand play when they should have shot them both in the back. Sorry, guy."

"No, you're right," Lamb declares, focusing hard on procedure and logic and intellect when he wants most to explode, hunt down the elusive monster McGillicuddy and settle the score in pain and blood. "That would've been it. Can't say I'm sorry they weren't smarter."

"It doesn't work," is Higgins's position. "To borrow a phrase, who the hell hired those bozos?"

"Not someone who wanted us to think we're dealing with an idiot," is Maxwell's contention. They had all seen through that ploy.

"Too idiotic," Gibbs says.

Shepherd wonders how she'd ever gotten onto a situation where the survival of two assassination victims and the deaths of the assassins could in any way be considered a problem. "Abby is already on her way back to her Lab with the guns. I want full histories on them and anyone she can raise who used them. Blakey," she says; it's crossing into Gamma shift. "Concentrate on identifying those two. If they weren't street muscle heads, they may be our best clue on who hired them. Tonight each of you coordinate with our sister Agencies; Cynthia is bringing the various Directors up to speed. I want each of you linked directly with another Agency's team, share all information."

"Full disclosure?" Kaiser asks. This is a common degree of coordination when an Agent is hit but

"I don't care who takes this bastard down, I want him - or her - on Ducky's table."

"You got it," Gibbs swears.

x

Janet, on the fringes of this conference, watches intently, feeling the pain her friend felt poignant in her own body. What she does next is far beyond the limits of protocol but she'll plead temporary insanity later. She steps through the knot directly to Shepherd.

"Director."

"Agent Levy?" The woman is guarded, equally taken aback by the interruption and who is doing it. Her voice is steady through effort that shouts 'I am trying to get through this night,' but her manner says 'not only are you interrupting but this conference is for Active Duty Agents'.

"Director, I want in on this." She sees something in Shepherd's eyes, and in Kevin's, but won't break her focus to learn what. "Leese has been trying to get me to come back. Maybe if I had, she wouldn't be in here."

No one will say there could have been three agents dead. Instead, Shepherd tells her that

"There are no Temps at NCIS, Agent Levy. If you're back, you're back."

"I'm _back_."

"Then hold on to this." From the pocket of her dress she pulls and presses into her hand Lisa's gold shield on its oval leather backing. "Use it until you come in to pick up your own at my office."

Silent, Janet stares at the metal sigil and then, with tight chest, she pushes the clip onto her jeans belt. "I'll use it until I give it back to Leese."

"I thought you'd say that." She reaches back into her pocket and hands her a familiar leather case containing her ID sans shield. In their locked gazes, neither woman has to say anything.

x

"If they weren't staking out the apartment," Rosemary Hauss says, her tone strongly announcing what a waste of time and manpower that would have been, "who knew you would be there?"

"Beside yourself, Director, one other person knew we'd be there and when."

"Who?"

"Clayton Jarvis. SECNAV."


	2. French Twist

Chapter Two  
French Twist

Bill Marsters knocks on Abby's door at, as Sammy Sky had insisted, precisely 11:00 this Saturday night. Abby, with her predilection for working odd hours and double shifts, is unlikely to be home yet but Sammy's rarely particular about when they meet, having a fairly wide schedule. Therefore he'd decided it was best to follow her instructions to the letter and knock at the instant that 10:59 became 11:00.

She'd asked yesterday to be left alone, had spent several days recovering from that hospital but this evening she sounded much better, more herself.

The door opens immediately and Bill gets, if not the biggest surprise of the night, then certainly the first of many. No one can ever accuse his Sammy of being mundane any more than they can call the spritely imp predictable.

Certainly the brief black and white micro-dress she wears is unexpected. Even before taking in the entire thing, the words 'French Maid' spring full blown into his mind.

"Oui, Monsieur?"

The black micro-dress leaves arms and shoulders bare as it starts halfway down a most generous display of her breasts just short of her areola to hug her body down to an inch past her hips and the frilly white apron is even shorter. Her legs are highlighted in black fishnet stockings that run downward from an inch below the dress' hem into red slippers whose high heels lift her an additional four inches to five-six.

Frilled white cuffs at her wrists match the decorative white collar about her throat, one of only two things she wears above her chest, the other being a black with white trimmed cap perched upon her pixie styled pale blonde hair.

"Very nice, Sammy."

"Oh, non, Monsieur, my name is Julienne. You are here to zee my Mis-tréss, but I am afraid Miss Abee eez, how you say, wor- _kíng_. She will be many hours, Monsieur."

"Oh, that's all right, I'll come back another time." He starts to turn toward the stairs.

x

She grabs his hand, pulls him in. "Oh, non, Monsieur, zhee would not want you to go." She closes - and locks - the door. "Zhee weel inseest that I take care of you in the many hours before zhee comes home." Her accent flows like honey; it's not French, it's 'fantasy-french'.

He has a good moment to take her in from scarlet high heeled slippers to white trimmed black cap perched saucily upon her head. The dress starts with uplifting cups that leave the upper halves of her breasts bare, held up to him in offer. Her 34B's - he'd noticed some time ago that she shares the same size with Abby as well as with Ziva David, though her 5-2 makes so much difference - invite petting and far more. He's paid special attention since their flirting days had blossomed into far more, not only because he's shopped for the most flattering bras for her (though he prefers her in nothing at all) but because of their so special relationship. Or would that be relationships, since she's so unexpectedly morphed from Danish to French? The dress curves down so low on her back, as he'd noticed when she'd turned to lock them in, that it dips past the white apron strings to stop perhaps a half inch short.

Now from this angle before her he can see the black and white motif broken by tiny red bows that front the black garters atop each stocking. The fishnets are tight enough to hold in place but all that seems to hold the dress up are the tips of her luscious breasts.

"What may I geeve you?"

x

He hasn't had her offer such a straight line in a long time, and since his first answer would shorten her playing he's not anxious to rush.

He evidently took too long choosing an answer (he'd love to render her in oils while she's still in this outfit but even the initial sketch will take far longer than either of them want) so she leads him to and into a chair with a small table at his left before the couch, neither of which had been in the black living room when he'd been here last.

"I shall return een a _mo_ men, Monsieur."

She walks out to the kitchen on her red high heels, taking her time in doing so, the show as impressive from the back as the front. The dress leaves her back quite bare and is cut very low to a curve below the small of her back, the apron strings bowed above it. It heightens, among other things, the illusion that only her nipples keep the dress on her. The perkily waving skirt covers a half inch past her derriere, well above the black garters, and it makes him look forward to finding out what - anything? - she wears under it.

x

She returns with a silver tray upon which is balanced a tall glass of ice water. When she reaches him in the deliberately slow walk, as she's on his right, the small table on his left, she bends and reaches, which puts her left breast into his cupped hand.

She straightens very quickly, shock bright on her face, her hand protecting her violated mound. "Non non non! Monsieur, that eez very nau- _tee_!"

"Ab- your mistress did instruct you to make me feel welcome, did she not?"

Eyes cast down, she softly admits "Oui, Monsieur." It's the admission of someone who finds herself captive by her own words.

"Well then," he takes her left wrist, "why don't you sit down and get comfortable," he draws her toward his lap, "and we can get better acquainted."

She pulls back but can't break his grip, teetering on those slippers. "Non, Monsieur, eet would not be appropri _ate_!"

"I won't tell her if you don't." He gives her a firmer tug until her fishnet covered thighs press his leg.

"Monsieur, s'il vois plaît, non! I am, how you say, a vir-geen."

"You're also a tease."

x

Samantha Sky is many things, among them a Submissive, a Bottom in BDSM parlance. He hadn't given much thought to that lifestyle before meeting the spritely imp, but she has a way of convincing him to try new things.

She loves to be tied up, prefers bondage to so-called Vanilla sex, though she doesn't like to be hurt. She has only one exception to that rule and he yanks her so with a high exclamation she trips across his lap, catches herself with her hands pressed on the black carpet, his left hand on her bare back holding her in place. He flings the brief hem up, finds the thin black line of her frilly thong, which is small enough to be pulled below the dress' dip and he gives her two smacks, first one hard on one side of the line and she yelps in more than pain, then three seconds later as hard on the other, the cracks loud as she yelps louder.

He releases her and she jumps up, backs away, hands covering the violated spots as he flexes his stinging hand. He's already glimpsed the developing red prints and looks forward to seeing them full ripe.

x

" _Monsieur_! You horrible, _horrible_ man!"

He stands and when she reaches to keep him back he grasps her wrists, holds her forearms up before her and backs her to the wall beside the door.

"Monsieur, what are you do- _ing_? Non!" He presses her to the wall, brings her arms up and back on either side of her head as he leans into her body, traps her as she struggles, her writhing feeling very good. "Non! I am a ver- _geen_. Mercy."

"You're welcome," he says, bending to kiss her.

"Not merci. _Mercy."_ She nearly laughs but that would spoil this. "Do not do _Zees_!"

He moves in to kiss her and she turns her head away. "Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France!

"It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married?" He hadn't known she'd taken that away from last month's 'Henry the Fifth' in the park.

"Oui! Veriment!"

x

Hands pressed to her cheeks, he kisses her. She pushes ineffectively against his shoulders but gradually presses less and less until by opening his mouth he forces hers open, their tongues duel and he grabs her wrists, pins them again to the wall on either side of her head as the kiss, the duel, increases in passion.

It's several long moments before she manages to turn her head to break the kiss. " _S'il_ _vous_ _plait_ , do not do zees to your helpless ver-geen!"

He grabs her chin with his right hand, forces her to turn back into his kiss and pins her body more firmly to the wall, grabs her left wrist again, pins it back beside her head.

Her struggle is writhing against him but when he kisses her he forces her to again open her lips. It doesn't take much force.

Their tongues slide sensually along each other as her deep breaths and loud exhalations, more moans than pleas, rub her breasts to his chest.

She relaxes her arms, holds them still, tells him in her lack of struggle against his hands that she won't try to escape. He releases her wrists and she keeps her forearms pinned to the wall on either side of her head, the effort keeping her chest thrust forward. He tugs the top of the dress, frees her breasts, covers them with his hands and gently caresses her.

She looks down, her face reflecting her shocked horror as he molds and strokes her breasts, revels in their firmness as she whimpers in helpless pleading. His thumbs tease her hard nipples even as he attacks her.

He comes in again to kiss her and she moans into his mouth, and when he gently squeezes her breasts, scissors her nipples between his fingers, she cries out into his mouth in unhidden ecstasy.

She turns aside, breaks the kiss long enough to gasp. "Non, Monsieur! Non!"

x

He draws back but concentrates on her nipples, strokes and pets, gently pinches and teases the nubs to even firmer response. She can only look down, helpless to stop his domination, his control and manipulation of her heaving breasts. Wrists 'pinned' to the wall, her breath comes harder still, every exhalation a sharp cry increasing in pitch. Her eyes glisten with her mounting response, her breasts heave into his hands as he lingers over teasing and petting her hard nubs.

Her eyes are nearly wild, her sharpening cries pitch higher and higher as she writhes against the wall, nearly reaches for him and has to make herself hold her hands in place, to be his captive victim even as she arches her back to press her heaving breasts deeper into his hands.

Her cries turn to mewling, to pleading for mercy, and when he gives her none she can only writhe with greater intensity under his onslaught.

Her hands still pinned to the wall, he takes advantage of her red high heels to bend to her left breast, cup it in his hand and gently lick and suck her nipple while his other hand caresses and pinches her right.

Her gasping cries are less mock terror as wholesome lust.

x

"Non, Monsieur, I _beg_ you, do not pull my thong aside."

Continuing to suck and lick her heaving breast, he reaches with right hand under her dress and she 'unwillingly' makes room for his hand. The thong is already very wet and he tugs it aside as she cries out in defeat, her trapped wrists still pinned. Both her right breast and her crotch fall victim to his hands as he continues to suck on her left nipple.

"Non, Monsieur!" she whispers, the desperation of her plea nearly lost in her panting gasps as he pets her wet lips, strokes as she shifts her hips, brings herself up to meet him. "S'il vous _plait_!" she gasps. "Do not touch my clit! Stop _eet_!" He quickly teases her clitoris and her keening cry betrays her.

He alternates between gentle petting and hard fast strumming, drives her to greater frantic convulsions. His slow strokes reduce her to long high cries and just as she seems about to orgasm he speeds up, rubs harder to break that sensation and give her new ones until her cries rise to frantic ecstasy and he again switches to slow petting as he continues to suck and lick her nipple.

She turns away, tries not to look at him. "Stay Out! Don't put your finger into me! _Don't_!"

Moving his hand further, he presses her ultra sensitive nub with his palm, uses his index and ring fingers to spread her scalding wet lips and slips his middle up and in. She's tight as ever, feels hot and wet enough to cook him.

" _NON_!" she cries. "I'm a _Vir-Geen_!"

Reminded, he draws back, runs just up to the first joint in her, strokes forward and back, her tight softness feeling very good as she cries out in ecstasy and humiliated defeat.

x

Releasing her for an instant, he undoes and pushes off his pants, frees himself and continues to enjoy her struggles. She writhes against him, struggles to escape as he pins her with his crotch.

"S'il vois plaît, Monsieur, do not take my ver-geenity standing against zees wall. Do not deflower my innocence trapped by your brutal control."

Straightening, he kisses her and crouches, aims upward for the right angle.

"S'il vois plaît, Monsieur!" she drops her voice to a desperate whisper. "Mercy! Do not deflower me and make me your conquest!"

She brings her left leg about his butt to open herself, shifts her hips forward and up for a better fit.

" _S'il vois plaît_ , Monsieur," she whispers, "do not ravish your helpless ver-geen." He's at her burning, wet lips, presses in, just the head. She's very tight and her movements add to this sensation. "S'il vois plaît," she whispers. "S'il vois plaît do not _violate_ me!" Pinned helpless to the wall, she can't protect her breasts from his hands. "Non, Monsieur. _Non_. Do not tear my ver-geenity apart and make me scream."

The door beside them swings open and she does scream.

x

" _JESUS_!" Abby cries, hand clutching her chest as Sammy clings to Bill, then lets go and tugs her dress up, covers her breasts as Bill yanks his pants up and secures them under half his disheveled shirt.

"I Didn't Know You'd Be Home!"

"Obviously." Abby tries, and fails, to contain her smile.

" _What_ _Are_ _You_ _Doing_ _Home_ _So_ _Soon_?"

She glances toward the black window, then to her frantic friend. It's eleven twenty five. "This is soon?" But then she points to the dark portal. "You forget something?" pulls Sammy's eyes toward the bare sill.

"Damn it, I forgot." Dress mostly restored, it doesn't do more than cup and raise her breasts so she hides herself with her hands. This dress isn't made for so many people.

"And I even told LA about the candle." She'd looked when she'd parked, it had been safe to come up. "But you two don't mind me, just go back to what you were doing."

"Yeah, right," Bill says, tucking the rest of his shirt in.

"I'm just here for a shower and change."

"You're going back out?" Sammy asks, sounding uncertain if she should be happy or not.

"I have ballistics tests that won't wait and two Security videos to run, but if I tell you about it tonight it'll ruin your whole night and you can't do a thing about it. Twenty minutes and I'll be gone and you can get back to your Naughty Nun game."

" _Fren_ – oh Forget It."

xxx

"Where and when did you talk to SECNAV?" Shepherd, in the hospital Doctors' Lounge, demands of Agent Kevin Lamb. She'd tried not to make it a demand but her stress has gone up another five points and it's getting harder not to show it.

Lamb knows this question is for the benefit of his colleagues, the eleven other SSA's that surround them. He'd already reported to Shepherd before going out to pick up Lisa DuBois and long before this new light. "In MTAC, before reporting to you. He'd ordered me to keep him in the loop, so I gave him the basics, you got the complete report."

"From here on, all information is for my Eyes only," she announces to everyone. "Clear?"

"As crystal," he answers for them. But he also considers this new provision to be closing the barn door after the horse has run out of the burning structure. If his carelessness led to Lisa being ambushed... He doesn't want to complete the thought.

"I want MTAC scanned from one end to the other." She focuses on Gibbs. "Special Agent McGee will work with Cyber Crime, and this is their Top Priority. We can't shut MTAC down, but we have to know now whether it's been hacked and if so, by whom and how to prevent it from happening again."

Gibbs doesn't want to think of how many levels of protection that thing has. If what McGee says about his own computer is any indication, multiply that by a hundred. "You think McGillicuddy can get into MTAC?"

"I'd almost prefer to think that than that the Secretary of the Navy is a traitor in league with Jackson McGillicuddy. "

"Or that he _is_ McGillicuddy,"

Gibbs' dire words freeze her. "You have a talent for making a crappy situation really horrible."

"Herbert Morrison was Vice-Admiral Lee Hing, a key man in Millennium. Antonio Crocetti, aka Krikor Ohanian, was as highly placed in the Iranian Government until our forces took him down. McGillicuddy had the resources to buy we still don't know how much ordinance; missiles, smart weapons and heavy armament in LA. It takes big bucks to run an organization like that and do the things he does. McGillicuddy has resources to take down Agents on both coasts and I don't think we've brushed the surface with him yet."

"Not like when he was a company."

x

In the early days when they'd dealt with 'McGillicuddy - Crocetti - Morrison', they'd believed the public face of a Corporation operating shady deals in DC. They'd moved against that company before being stopped by, of all things, the FBI, and had come out of that debacle with another Agent dead and the beginnings of an idea of the scale of the enemy whom they face.

And in the past months all they have consistently come to know is that they still don't truly understand the depth of their mortal enemy. And now, after battling that enemy to a draw on too many occasions, their wins bought at the cost of too many agents' lives, they face a new and horrifying question.

Is Clayton Jarvis 'Jackson McGillicuddy'?


	3. Rude Awakening

Chapter Three  
Rude Awakening

The USS Enterprise, Starfleet Registry NCC-1701-D, orbits Vendikar (or Eminiar VIII as it appears on the Official Galactic Survey Charts) at maximum synchronous orbit. A century ago this ship's namesake, the original 1701, had intervened in a war between this world and its orbiting neighbor, the less fancifully named Eminiar VII. The Enterprise is here to discern the reason why reports have reached the Federation that the long cease fire, a hundred years vs. the five hundred of conflict, shows new signs of strain.

Seated at Captain Jean-Luc Picard's right, in the First Officer's chair, Third Officer Lt. Cdr. Karen Wetzel divides her attention between the view of the deceptively peaceful planet and the readings coming from the display terminals raised on the ends of her chair's left and right arm rests.

First and Second Officers Riker and Data lead an Away Team consisting of Sociologists and Diplomats in an attempt to head off conflict before –

A light flares bright at her right hand display an instant before Cmdr. Worf reports from Tactical above and behind them. "Captain, energy disch–!"

At light speed, this is all the Klingon has time to report before a titanic impact rocks the ship, the roar deafening. Wetzel's head is snapped back and an instant later she's flung forward, crashes chest first into the Helm and bounces off it to land flat on her back.

"Warp power to shields!" Picard commands as another Herculean impact shakes the ship, drowns out the Alert klaxon. "Wetzel, get up," he commands.

'My Station. I have to get back!' But she feels her ribs are broken, something she's sure of when she tries to move.

"Wetzel, get _up_." Another blast rocks the ship side to side.

x

"Wetzel, _will_ you get up!" But this is a woman's voice and the shake isn't the entire ship, just her upper body slid back and forth courtesy of a firm hand on her shoulder. "If you don't, I'll dump a bucket of water on you. Move it!"

She forces her eyes open and focuses up to the very annoyed face of Instructor Alexandra Quinn.

"Miss Quinn?"

"About time. You almost missed your flight."

"My whaaa?" Transition from the beleaguered Enterprise to Glynco Naval Air Station in Georgia is too sudden. Her stomach's still passing Berengaria. "Whaaa fliiy?"

"You're going to DC," Quinn says, dragging her by her arm to the edge of the mattress. "Get up."

Having her bare feet under her, though not without a wobble, she can think. The life of a Special Agent can sometimes be highlighted by early and urgent wake-ups so she struggles awake so as not to lose points, but it's still too freaking early.

She looks at the clock on her night table. 3:06 brings her around to face the FLETC Instructor. "Is this an Exercise?" she asks, trying with her left hand to force her unruly blonde mop to point in the same general direction.

"No. If you get in there right _now_ you have four minutes for a shower, then I drive you to Brunswick Golden Isles where you board a Navy Transport leaving at 0345 for Reagan National. There you'll be met for transport to the Navy Yard. I'll pack for you."

"But–"

"Three minutes, thirty six seconds."

xxx

Jammed within a line of men clad as she was in a Flight Suit that at least fit, blonde pony tail squeezed into the crash helmet, ears covered by heavy protectors, clinging for most of the loud flight to webbing on the wall and hoping no one pressed the button that would open the rear door which was big enough to fit an SUV through, had not been fun. A new experience, yes, and she doesn't always object to being squeezed between two men, but not fun.

Quinn had driven her to the lowered ramp of the plane and had answered none of her many questions, but the woman's silence had driven such words as 'weird' and 'covert' deep into her mind.

In the air, the miles north shot under her as, seated between the helmeted soldiers, she'd tried again for answers.

The soldiers hadn't had any, at least that's what she supposes they'd yelled in response to her shouts (the engines seemed to be in the room with them), so she'd given up or she'd've had no voice when she reached someone who had (quiet) answers.

She'd thought her morning was going horribly until she'd divested herself, after a white knuckle landing, of her Flight Gear and walked down the ramp to set feet upon blessedly solid ground. Guided by the man who met her at the huge maw, she'd walked with residual trembling until she realized her destination was a helicopter!

x

She'd halted, frozen in place before the red Airbus HH-65 with the black trimmed glass nose and only the thought that the man might pick her up bodily and put her in was enough to get her aboard the too glassy contraption. She was sure her trembling hand would, like the Flash's, vibrate the air ship into a pile of scrap metal before she was halfway through the door.

She'd determined to be brave as the rotors above her head started spinning. She was an NCIS Special Agent Trainee, not a scared little girl getting into a helicopter for the very first time. Okay, it _was_ the very first time but she would not humiliate herself no matter how badly she prayed to faint.

The vibrations weren't enough to shake her teeth loose, the roar and rotating props creating their own wind was a HELL of a lot quieter than the plane was, and as she saw the ground fall away she turned left and locked her eyes on the control panel before the man. Fifty feet. A hundred feet. A hundred fifty feet. Two hundred feet. She could do it. Five hundred, a thousand, fifteen hundred, she convinced herself, with great effort, that she could do it. Helicopters can fly thousands more feet up and be safe. Talking herself into it at twenty five hundred, she looked right.

Her screech, the loudest one of her entire life as she clamped her hands to her face, eyes clenched shut, made her decide, staring into the blackness she intended to never let go of, that being a girl was better than being an Agent.

x

The sun was coming up as the man told her they were coming down and, when she dared try to believe him, they were little more than a few feet above the trees and heading north toward the Anacostia river. Once across she saw a large park she remembers - from her last time here when she'd made the sane trip in a car - is named Admiral Willard Park.

They'd set down not too far from a grove of trees and only a thought of implied disrespect prevented her from kneeling down like the Pope and kissing the grass.

She's across Secard St. from building 111 where her fate had been determined last time and she still doesn't have a clue what's happening.

xx

Suitcase in still shaking hand, legs unsteady and likely to remain so forever, she knocks on a fourth floor office door before the man who's her final escort can. She's on familiar ground here and can knock on a door when she actually does know what's on the other side of it.

The man beside her doesn't wait for an acknowledgment, simply turns the knob and leads her in.

Whether due to intent or coincidence, it's 0800 sharp but the black woman seated at the desk is not sharp at all. She looks as though she hasn't slept this week. She rallies well, however, and reaches for the intercom switch. "Director, Karen Wetzel is here."

/Send her in./

"You can leave the case out here."

x

Director Shepherd hasn't changed in the months since she'd seen her other than being distinctly more stressed. She wonders for a moment how she appears to the woman and realizes absolutely no idea what to say.

Does she salute? No, NCIS is civilian. Say 'Agent-Trainee Karen Wetzel reporting as ordered'? No for the same reason. Say 'Hi'? Unthinkable. So what to say?

It's been three months since she'd stood in this spot, the consequences of her Investigation into the murder of her father still fresh and the woman before her had sliced and diced her more thoroughly than someone had the prisoners in 'The Cube', Nicole DeBoer's scariest movie, and she suspects she might even be standing in some spots of her figurative blood. She'd returned to FLETC for her now last days of formal schooling and isn't entirely certain she's not in her last days here as well.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Wetzel?"

"Trying to figure out why I'm here, Ma'am." The last time she'd been in this room things had not gone at all well, and she'd actually been surprised to have a room back at Glynco. She'd really thought she'd washed out of FLETC and had days later come to understand what the woman had been telling her.

"Fast flight?" Shepherd asks as though having full knowledge of how fast it had been.

"My stomach is still somewhere between Charlotte and Raleigh," she admits, deciding that it's better than Berengaria.

"Agents frequently have to be elsewhere with little or no notice."

"And you want to know if I could handle it."

Shepherd sits back, gets comfortable so she can look up. "Did you?"

x

Karen's pretty certain the reports of the trip got here before her. "I shrieked like a girl at twenty five hundred feet."

"Probably won't be the last time."

"Probably not. I'm scared on a ladder."

"Maybe not after this."

"Maybe. But did it have to be an Airbus HH-65?" There were way too many windows. When she'd walked to the red machine with the black trimmed glass nose all she could see was the excessive surplus of windows, which she admits are excellent for S&R as well as MedEvac missions but horrible for those who hate ladders.

"Could've been a Bell 2100."

"No, thank you." The entire cabin of that old craft is a glass sphere. Shades of M*A*S*H.

"Yet you got aboard."

"I recognized that you wanted me to pass a test, but if you don't mind I'll go back by Amtrak."

"No promises."

"Figured that."

"How's your family?"

"I'm betting you know better than I do." The woman's silence only confirms this.

"Don't cut family out," Shepherd finally advises. "Of all the regrets I know, that's the worst one."

All together, she'd rather be on the Airbus 65. "Ma'am, why am I here?"

"Don't feel like socializing?"

How to answer this? She has no interest in her mother's state and her sister hasn't been much of a runner-up. Fortunately, she hesitates for so long that Shepherd moves on.

x

"You've made it crystal clear that your ambition, your plum post as it were, is the Office of Special Projects in LA."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why? An Agent, when he or she graduates from FLETC, could be assigned anywhere in the world. The officials there, knowing the qualifications of their students, do make recommendations and those frequently carry considerable weight but, believe it or not, we sometimes do take personal preferences into account – within reason. In addition to Headquarters, NCIS has 15 Field Offices worldwide and 103 Supplemental Offices.

"If you're assigned a tour aboard a ship, and there's an 81% chance of that at some time in the course of your career, you'd see a great deal of the world. The OSP isn't even a Supplemental Office, whereas California's Field Office is in San Diego. The OSP is a Specialized Unit, small, obscure and too often perched on the edge of global catastrophe and internal parturition."

Karen frowns at her. Did she really say that? What does she mean by it? Certainly not what it seems she'd mean. Is this another test? She decides to set it aside, think about it later, return when she's thought and observed more. Graduation Day is coming fast, and maybe there's more to her future than she'd imagined. But there is one thing she's been sure of for months.

"Headed, if I may say, by the best Agent that NCIS has ever known. Henrietta Lange is the woman they created the word Legendary to describe. With all due respect to my teachers in FLETC, rumor has it that she's forgotten more about being an Agent than they've collectively learned."

"I'm inclined to agree. But it's more than the mentorship of a good teacher that motivates you to choose the smallest and most obscure permanent post in the Agency. In fact, only the Red Unit is smaller but they specialize in being mobile.

"So if you would have me give your ambition, audacious as it is, any consideration, tell me why."

x

"Ma'am, all I can tell you is that from the time I first heard of them I realized that I have spent years prepping for it. I spent years Acting, it was a passion of mine, studying and learning how to adopt roles - I prefer Method Acting - everything I could learn and practice I did before something in me pointed me toward the life of a Federal Agent, toward that kind of a Federal Agent."

"FBI, CIA, Homeland, they're bigger," Shepherd counters. "They're better known, more prestigious and frankly, with your grades," she touches some papers on her desk, "you could apply to any of them and do well."

"Frankly, ma'am, I don't want to do well."

"No?"

"No, ma'am, I want to do spectacularly."

x

"You were a Secretary."

Karen can't bring herself to be surprised. She has her academic transcript; one of the file folders stacked on the desk probably tells the woman things about her that she's forgotten.

"I was. Receptionist, Secretary, Jane-of-all-trades and Mistress of three or four. Shorthand, dictation, typing - both typewriter and computer, filing, phone answering, coffee making, lunch orders, I did it for over a year and every day I was sure my brain would soon grind to a halt."

"That's where you developed," she opens the second folder in the stack, "'a highly developed practice of equating popular literature and mass entertainment into applications of personal experience',"

"I understand Special Agent DiNozzo specializes in movies, whereas I'm more of a generalist."

"And this tendency, does it get you into trouble?"

"None I haven't been able to work my way out of, Ma'am."

Her manner changes, no longer a friendly interview. No longer a friendly anything in fact. "Last time you were here, you got yourself into a considerable degree of trouble. Insubordination, Refusal to follow the directions of your Superiors, Interfering in a Federal Investigation, Trespassing on Federal Property, _Assault_ on a Federal Agent, Assault upon a restrained Prisoner already in Custody– "

"Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?"

"Denied."

x

"Your history since applying to FLETC," she drives relentlessly, "shows you to be a _potentially_ good Agent who is headstrong and occasionally inappropriately willful. While your class work is above average, a suitable collection of A's and A Pluses, your enthusiasm too often leads you to act before thinking a situation through, which quite frankly can be disastrous. Your Field experience, while understandably limited, shows that you far too often speak where silence is the better recourse. Special Agent McGee was most dissatisfied with your Field Performance, to say nothing of the way you manipulated circumstances to attach yourself to Special Agent Gibbs' team after being instructed to desist from attempting to insinuate yourself into the Investigation of your father's murder. You played on your FLETC status to come dangerously close to a Charge of Impersonating a Federal Agent."

"Ma'am, may I answer now?"

x

Shepherd regards her for several seconds before finally, and visibly grudgingly, giving in. "Very well."

"Ma'am, while I do admit that the circumstances, when looked at from a certain point of view, can be made to seem–"

"Made to seem, young lady? A certain point of view? Is that to be the form of your defense?"

"Ma'am, I came up here unaware I needed any defense. If you were determined to have me expelled from FLETC you could have done that with a phone call to Mr. Zito. Otherwise, when I was here you might have Terminated me then and there and not wait until just before the end of my Courses, until five days before Graduation. In fact, you did not do so but when I stood here last you gave me some advice and insight and from what I learned when I got back you seemed satisfied with my progress, or at least my work."

"I was not."

"All right. You want me to admit to those Charges. Okay, I admit to them. I'm not a child to deny the obvious or to stand here making excuses, but you sent for me. If you're dissatisfied with my training or my ability then send me back to FLETC for additional training but–"

"You are not going back to FLETC unless it be to pick up your belongings which are being boxed as we speak. You're through there."

x

A tub of ice water dumped over her. A hard shove off a plank into churning ocean. A guillotine blade slammed through the back of her neck.

"Wait a minute. What? What do you mean I'm 'through'?"

"Trouble with English? Through. Your classes, that is your last Class, is terminated. Your Final Examination on Wednesday is cancelled, as is Friday's Graduation. Your room is now being turned out. All your possessions are being boxed up and will be put into storage until you can collect them."

A grenade shoved down her pants and the pin pulled. Study – for nothing. Training – for Nothing. Hard Work – for NOTHING. Effort and plans and ambitions and dreams – for _NOTHING_!

"You can't do this."

"I already have. You can leave your Dorm key, ID and any FLETC property with Cynthia before you leave here."

Her mouth works - it's so much work to force the words out, yet she knows that if she doesn't do it now she'll never be able to say this.

"They said you were a hard woman," she forces between clenched teeth, "but I never imagined… that you could be… such… a… _BITCH_!"

"Have a care, Wetzel."

" _Why_? If I'm Expelled…." She gives a second. Could this be some really super-elaborate sadistic practical joke?

"You are not returning to FLETC."

"Then I have nothing to lose by telling you that you, 'Madam Director', are a Sadist and that I am going to appeal this. I don't know who I can appeal it to or how –"

"There is no appeal from this. Forget it."

"Forget study and work and training and…? No! I will Not! YOU forget this, because as God is my witness I am going to fight you. I don't know why you're doing this but there is no way I'm going to let you take away my career, my future, my Life! Even if you can close NCIS to me – and if you shut me out it'll be the biggest mistake of your career because I was going to be the best Agent you were ever going to meet – you Cannot shut me out from some other Agency. NCIS was my first choice and OSP was my dream assignment but there's the FBI, CIA, OSI, CGIS and others and you cannot shut me out of those."

"Be hard to get anywhere since you will not complete your last days at FLETC, neither will you take your final tests nor will you graduate."

x

It's not a bucket of ice water that hits her, it's a huge block of ice. Her every word has to be forced out. "What have I ever done to you that you would do this to me?"

"Nothing."

"Then _why_ do this?"

"I have my reasons."

The shrieked " _WHY_?" bounces off the walls.

"Because the Assignment I sent for you for requires cast iron balls and I had to be sure that you have them."

Still panting from the cataclysmic climax, it takes her time to wind down and to get to "Huh?"

x

"There is an assignment, one particularly suited to your skill set. It's one I cannot assign to an established and therefore known Agent. I have to go Out-of-House because you are one of the very things that appealed to you when you set your sights on OSP: obscure."

How many times can one planet flip upside down? But it makes sense. Somewhere. "I understand."

"I sincerely doubt that. Come with me."

And before she has time to wonder about the weirdest Interview she hopes ever to have, she's following the taller woman out of the office.

xxx

Since Shepherd says nothing for the period of the trip down the elevator and past the security station where she'd been wanded and her travel bag x-rayed on her way in, she says nothing either as she's led out through the front door, this time sans belongings. They walk up the path, Shepherd returns the greetings of Agents they pass and they cross Secard Street and back into Admiral Willard Park. She's relieved the helicopter is gone, no flight of terror this time - she hopes. But as Shepherd angles left to the grove, curiosity gives way to mystification.

They walk up to the grove and Shepherd stops. "Do you know what this is?"

Having no clue, she tries but is finally reduced to the obvious. "Trees?"

Shepherd looks down to her and the expression is strained. "It's the Grove of the Fallen."

x

Unwilling but unable to stop herself, Karen steps forward until the raised letter gold plaques, driven into the barks, are legible to various distances. She reads the plaques in no particular order.

Caitlyn Todd, a date below the name and another below that, a two year range. It and each other one contains, between the dates, a capsule summary paragraph of the man or woman's history. Martine Joswig, seventeen year range. Paula Cassidy, nine year range. Patrick Gaine, eighteen years. Christopher Pacci, fourteen years. Margaret Calder, nine years. Michael Franks, twenty nine years. Mary Narz, eight years. She turns, not wanting to read more, there are too many more but Shepherd points to her right. "That one is yours."

She looks to one of several bare trees and the tears she'd fought at this solemn memorial nearly break through but she fights them. Finally she speaks and her voice cracks. "Why would you show me tha–?" She must swallow it down. "This?"

"To impress upon you the only reality in our future. However we die," and for an instant the Waiting Room of Personal Deaths from Beetlejuice flashes into her mind, "this is the one thing all NCIS Agents who die in the Line of Duty share, and I do _Not_ want to order your plaque."

"Is it so certain?"

"Nothing in life is. This assignment could be your Master's Piece, your final FLETC exam, or..."

"I get it."

x

"Since you're not yet an Agent, and this assignment is beyond the norm and should be unheard of for a student, I'm going to ask you rather than assign you."

"And if I succeed, will I get that assignment to OSP?"

Shepherd bites back a laugh. She had looked forward, since the young woman had been here last, to challenging her in battle. They had fought the last one in MTAC to a draw. "By God, Gibbs was right about you."

"Probably." Nothing more. "What did he say?"

"That you'll probably be an outstanding agent if your SSA doesn't strangle you first."

"That sounds like him."

"But did you know you are one of only three people ever to slap Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"

"No. Who were the others?"

"Michelle Palmer." 'Right, my old 'partner'.' "And..." Shepherd looks to one of the trees and she doesn't want to see which one.

"So, what's my Assignment?"


	4. A Bitch to Implant

Chapter Four  
A Bitch to Implant

In MTAC, Janet Levy and Karen Wetzel take places in the last row as the only non-Supervisors present and both are very conscious of the distinction. In Wetzel's case she's very aware of not belonging in this group but her head is still spinning since her assignment to her new position.

Janet silences her cell phone and sets it to vibrate. Before coming in she'd tried the hospital again and had received the same answer: Nothing.

Lisa DuBois is not established in any room, no surprise, but that means she's either in Recovery or She Is Still In Surgery.

IT'S BEEN _TEN_ _HOURS_!

x

Everyone in this room other than the young woman beside her - she'd introduced herself but Janet had immediately forgotten her name, focused as she is on her partner - had been at Sibley last night, now they're here and so are their teams. Agent Ling remains to receive and forward information and that'll go to Shepherd or to Kevin, not to her.

x

Shepherd, when the twelve Supervisors are seated in the forward of sixteen theater seats, turns her attention to the men at the control station. "Are all external transmission circuits closed?"

"Closed and locked, ma'am," the older man says. "We're on Closed Circuit."

"Keep the system that way except by my order."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turns her attention to the fourteen men and women seated before her. "As of a half hour ago Special Agent Lisa DuBois was still in surgery, that lasting now over ten hours with two teams of surgeons. She suffered three gunshot wounds, I have no further specifics. Her status is still listed as Critical. I have withdrawn all agents save Special Agent Kari Ling because we have too much work for a vigil. She will keep us informed." She pauses to shift gears. This briefing is a consolidation and update; she has to make sure everyone has the same information as they move on to the next step - she intends to assume the offensive - but that doesn't mean that any of it will be pleasant.

"You already know that, effective last night, I have reinstated Special Agent Levy. The paperwork will come later." Several supervisors look back with silent expressions of welcome, but while there's gratification in having her back, the reason is deplorable.

"However, a team of two is not viable." She is not about to reintroduce the already very well covered fact that if Levy had been with Lamb and DuBois last night, the attack would probably have ended differently: it could have gone the range from a successful evening through all three agents mourned. "Special Agent Gibbs, assign one of your team to Lamb's."

He has four Field Agents, more than any other team, and had used his rank as Deputy Special Agent-in-Charge quite effectively through the years to accumulate this force.

"Palmer. She worked well with them before." He therefore doesn't have to mention why he's not bringing her back to the Life Source complex at the Naval Research Labs.

"Granted."

"Thank you, director, we'll make good use of her," Lamb says, including Gibbs in that assurance.

"I'm sure you will," Shepherd says. "What evidence did you bring back from your investigation?"

"The physical evidence consists of a large volume of shredded paper from a garbage pail outside the Esposito home, a desktop computer from the Bachman home containing surveillance records of the family's abduction past an exterior camera mounted to face the door and a disguised surveillance camera, and a laptop from Rita Fischer's apartment containing similar information from a concealed apartment camera. The Bachman camera shows four people, Catherine Bachman and her husband, teenaged boy and girl forced out by six soldiers in fatigues and masks. There's undoubtedly more to find and Abby has everything."

x

"Special Agent Kelman."

"Ma'am?" Melanie says crisply.

"Your team will hook up with Tina Larsen from Document Analysis, assist Abby with putting those papers back together while she goes through those computers."

"Yes, ma'am." It's clear to her that Larsen's skills will best serve in breaking down the shredded papers by both paper type and printing detail, presuming there are any differences and no matter how fragmentary that printing or writing may be, allowing them then to reintegrate the distinguished piles. Then, with Kenneth Templeton and Patrick Larsen, they'll go through the next level of sorting. Her talents will be of use in the next phase. Being able to remember with precision everything she sees, no matter how long ago, she will be able to jigsaw the pieces together.

She's glad of Tina Larsen's help, for the four, plus Abby, are going to have a massive, and very likely multiple room job once she supervises the first level of breakdown.

x

"Special Agents Baxter, Hauss and Arnell, you and your teams go down to Norfolk to those three houses, inspect, canvas, get answers." A broken chorus of acknowledgments, the women and their teams will coordinate duties under Lamb. "Special Agent Maxwell, your people have Fischer's apartment. By now Abby should have answers for us," Shepherd says with more than a touch of peevishness, withholding 'why hasn't she reported in?' from the group. Her back to the huge screen, she turns to the technicians at her right. "Get the Lab on this thing." She returns her attention to the group before her, then looks to the men again. "Please."

"Right away, ma'am," the senior man says, his tone modified from how he might have been tempted to answer her rude command.

x

The lab appears from the ceiling mounted Security camera. "Abby?"

The woman, clothed in her white lab coat over black and red boots and black and yellow striped stockings that recall a bee's furry hide, steps away from her freestanding console. She looks like she had been caught with other plans before being brought in, because the black blouse offers too generous a scoop neck V for a Sunday morning. "Director?" she asks upward uncertainly.

"In MTAC."

"Oh, just a sec." She returns to the console and in a few moments the image switches to a horizontal view looking out from her computer's camera. She steps back so they can see one another. "Wow. Good crowd if not for the occasion."

"Expected to hear that you had something by now, Abby."

"Oh, I did. I do. But you gave me a DCMICY before three o'clock this morning so I figured I'd better hold it."

"Dickmekey?" She really isn't in the mood.

"Don't call me, I'll call you."

"Oh, right, sorry." That was around the time she'd finished wrestling with her conscience about the Wetzel Gambit, which she still has to get to. "What do you have?"

x

"I raised prints on the gun that shot Lisa and ID'd your shooter. The other one was as easy. I sent a general email to, well, you and everyone behind you." She bends low over the keyboard to type in commands and for a moment, with the camera mounted above the screen, the room is treated to an ultra large close-up down her blouse over the staccato clicking of keys.

" _Abby_."

"Yes?" Her downward looking face is just visible at the top edge of the screen and she looks further down. "Oh!" She tugs her coat closed and straightens up again. "No peep show without the Cover charge."

"Abby."

"Wow. Tough room." Her image is replaced by two MPDC mug shots. Shepherd glances to Lamb but hardly has to. His expression and Abby's confirmation are quite enough.

"Fred Castleton and Jed Richmond. What may be halfway hinky but definitely interesting is that they both have Dishonorable Discharges; Castleton two years ago for assaulting a PO1 aboard the Arliegh Burke and Richmond three years ago for pulling a weapon on the Second Officer of the Donald Cook. He didn't shoot, but apparently this was the final straw of a long history of infractions. None of those others had gotten him brig time, but pulling an M9 was enough to land his butt on land."

x

"Special Agent Lamb, you have them. I'm sure you want them."

"What's left of them. Damned right." He also wants to stay in HQ to respond at a moment's notice to any word from the hospital. Palmer had better be ready to have the caseload dropped into her lap without that moment.

"Pick up on whatever Agent Blakey found from last night and pick up the track, try to get it to lead to McGillicuddy." His silent nod is his answer to this. He and Blakey exchange silent communication.

x

"Abby, what do you have on that fear drug?"

"The Phobos Formula? Narsty bit of hinkiness, and I'm morally certain Jackson McGillicuddy's behind it up to his grubby little elbows. It's a wildly complex formula I haven't figured out how he put together, but it's designed to specifically target a basic function of the amygdala. Among its functions, that part of the brain is where our fear response, the famous fight-or-flight, is controlled. The formula… well, impulses are carried along nerves because they make and break connections thousands of times a minute but this formula inhibits the breaks. The circuit is always on, essentially the same problem you get from nerve gas, except this is specialized. It's the kind of thing on the level where, if a legitimate scientist had come up with it he'd get a Nobel Prize. It should have been Jonas Salk, instead we got Lex Luthor."

"Special Agent Blakey, you take over that formula. If Abby has any of the elements –."

'I do."

"Track them. Special Agent Gibbs, you came to me earlier with a theory."

x

"This Project Life Source. Don't ask me how, I can't tell you and that's not Need-to-Know crap, but it can detect life. Everything that's alive comes up on a screen ten times as big as this one. And once it IDs you and gets a lock, it'll find you to a square foot. Now it has a thirty mile range but they want to expand and also make it portable. They ID'd nine former members of the project, narrowed the ones in range down to the rooms they're in.

"DiNozzo, David and Frank Oswald from OSI are assigned to interview them. Five we know where they are, one is here in the Yard, and if any of the other four come in range bells will go off."

"And you think McGillicuddy used the Phobos Formula to scuttle the Life Source project so he can't be located."

"I would. We already know he's behind the hypnotic disks that took out a slew of people last year. Abby's researching the victims since this latest crop came up. We found everything we need when we went over Debra Zapigna, Gene Schecter and Elizabeth McFadden's stuff." Other agents had assisted at that intensive search.

"Agents Higgins and Vinchense, you have those four missing people. Sorry a machine can't give you their locations, you'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

"Works the best," Higgins says. "Who likes Deus ex machina?"

"Director," John Vinchense calls, "may I remind you my team has that shooting at Fairfax? Lance Corporal looked like he was in the wrong place when a liquor store robbery went down except that the three perps, when leaving the store, shot him eighteen times?"

"Okay, stay on that." That's the kind of situation the word suspicious is meant for.

"We can trace those people, no trouble." Higgins doesn't add aloud 'I hope'.

"Good. Agent Kaiser, your team has the hypnotic disks. Try to track them back. Doctors Gyves, Ryan and Cranston will work their therapy with the known victims." The trio of psychiatrists already had a huge case load last night as anxiety/grief counselors. She feels fortunate all three had been reached so quickly so they could reach the rapidly filling hospital, and hopes the NCIS Psychiatrist and his two colleagues will be enough to deal with these victims plus over 30 Field Agents and so many others who have had more than enough tragedy in the past year.

Abby's image comes back on the MTAC screen. "Be super careful when you do. The two who had this new batch killed themselves the minute they were cornered for questioning, and McFadden did herself in the second she agreed to betray the ones in charge."

"Right."

"Special Agent Gibbs, I want you and your team to stay on this Life Source thing. I trust you've built a rapport with the project's chiefs?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I knew I could rely on your diplomatic skills."

x

"Director," Abby calls from the screen. "Did you want to see what I found on Rita Fischer's home security system now?"

"Yes. Special Agent Lamb, would you set the scene?"

His voice is tense; minutes after what he's going to relate, DuBois had been shot down in the street. "Yesterday Lisa DuBois and I, investigating the disappearance of three scientists from an independent scientific research bunker at Norfolk - Catherine Bachman, Mark Esposito and Jeremy Cintron - we found that they and their families had been taken prisoner by, according to the camera trained on the Bachman front door, several masked soldiers clad in fatigues without, so far as we could see, any identifying insignia.

"We'd learned that while Bachman and Esposito had families, Cintron was single yet was dating a woman here in DC. We'd hoped she would be able to shed some light on the case but, on arriving at her apartment, we discovered that she was also missing.

"We did, however, find that she too had a home security system, a commercial spycam camouflaged as a book set to view the apartment door."

"Abby?"

"Roll 'em?"

She can't help but smile. "Roll 'em."

x

On the huge screen is shown a half of a living room, main door centered and miscellaneous furnishings visible beyond a central table. Inserts at the lower left and right display, in white, the time and date. The living room door is slightly open.

"The camera is motion sensitive, probably set up because that area of DC, about nine months ago, had a spate of home invasions. They caught the guy BTW and it had nothing to do with this but good thing she was spooked, it may save her life.

"What you're seeing is second one, of course, of as you see by the time stamp, 1832 hours. The last footage was Jeremy Cintron meeting Rita Fischer for their date. They left at 1806. I can show it to you if you want but this is much better."

The door opens and four men clad in Army fatigues and carrying weapons everyone in the room recognizes as AK-47s enter the room. They wear black cloth masks that cover their faces and gloves further conceal them. They quickly and with evident training search the rooms, then congregate in the living room.

"Cintron and Fischer didn't come home until 2212 but I'm going to jump ahead to 2127 because that's where it gets good."

The men have made themselves at home, yet from what the agents had seen they did nothing to jeopardize their anonymity until the figures jump to new positions and two remain visible in the camera's frame, then one of the soldiers removes his helmet and black mask.

"Abby, can you enlarge that?"

"I could, but there's no need. Watch."

The man continues a long and probably bored wander about the room, and then his meandering path takes him to the bookshelf. He reads each of the titles, then for a moment his face fills the entire screen as he looks at the pinpoint lens of the Spy-cam. Abby freezes the face.

He's about 25 with black mustache and a sparse beard upon his chin, but the hair at his cheeks shows considerably less cultivation, as though for the past two weeks he let it grow in and hasn't bothered with it.

"I don't suppose you bothered to identify this man?" Shepherd quips.

"Oh ye of little faith!" The full screen image is replaced by a considerably younger and cleaner "Army Ex-PV2 Alan Kilbrandsen. He's Ex-Second Class, then Ex-Army when in Syria he sabotaged a tank. He was in 8 months and assigned to maintain Tank Systems when he constricted a barrel by lacing it with some of the quick drying cement they use to repair roads after they'd been bombed out. Fortunately he was as efficient as he was intelligent because the plot was discovered on a routine check. Good thing too, because the back blast would've killed the crew.

"He tried to desert immediately but was caught. He was Court Marshaled, Dishonorably Discharged, did three years, then disappeared."

"Three DDs," Hauss says.

"And the hinks just keep on coming," Abby's voice declares in what so many have come to know as her relish voice. "It's time for Fischer and Cintron to come home."

x

Kilbrandsen's face disappears and the four soldiers hurry to take positions, two near the door, the other two several feet removed from it at 30 and 150 degree angles, weapons trained on the opening door. As soon as she steps partially through Rita Fischer is yanked in hard enough to drop a bouquet of roses and fall against the large table with enough force to knock it several feet out of line. The soldier at the left end of the screen covers her as Jeremy Cintron is pulled through the portal as well.

But where Fischer had been pulled off high heeled slippers, Cintron is in better stead. He reaches for the soldier who grabbed him and, in a very brief grapple, pulls the black mask from his assailant. At the same moment the other soldier near the door rams his weapon deep into Cintron's stomach and he doubles over.

The image freezes. "I don't know if either Cintron or Fischer saw that face, the eye lines are wrong, but thanks to the marvels of paranoid home protection, _I_ did."

x

Though the black mask is already being restored less than a second after it was dislodged, the image is replaced by that of a young man in Naval Uniform posed in front of an unfurled flag. "Meet Ex-PO3 Communications Specialist - everyone say it with me? _Dishonorably Discharged_ -" she'd said it alone. "Like I said, tough room. Any who, Nate Lebbon was part of the night shift Com Team aboard the Bon Homme Richard, CV-31. He felt North Korea wasn't getting a good shake by the Pentagon and decided to help out by leveling the playing field and giving them a few secret messages, all in the name of international bonhomie."

"What kind of secrets did he have?" Donna Kaiser asks.

"Not the most interesting kind. Any outgoing message, coded or secured, he repeated on frequencies favored by the Democratic People's Republic. But he wasn't as smart covering his trail as he thought he was. Records of the transmissions tripped him up on day two. Nothing he sent was all that sensitive, but the Navy made an example of him. He did nine years for attempted treason."

"I know a Lebbon," Gibbs says.

"Indeed, you do, and it's another facet of Hinky. Paul Lebbon was the on-site guy Tim captured aboard the Millennium."

The man had been left aboard to ensure nothing went wrong aboard the hijacked warship, and probably would have done fine for McGee's high dive had been considered insane at best and suicidal as it's most likely outcome. The man is still at Gitmo and to date has not broken. "Do not tell me. Brother."

"Now would I do that to you don't answer that. Second cousin, fathers were cousins and for what I've found are not close, but then I've only had a few hours to find anything so don't bitch."

"Never dream of it," he assures her to cover his surprise. She seems to be covering her stress over DuBois by covering it.

x

Shepherd is impressed. The woman had put in her usual 0700 morning, unusual on a Saturday, and had been given the two guns after 2230 and she hadn't expected anything approaching this level of detail in her post-0900 Sunday report. She'll be sure to send her home if the case load will only slow. "Well done, Abby."

"Shows what you can do when you're trying to forget walking in on a French Maid."

That stops the room, but absolutely no one wants to pursue it.

x

"Special Agent Lamb. Please repeat what you told us about your report to the SECNAV." This can bring Abby and her own surprise guest up to speed.

"The other day Clayton Jarvis ordered me to keep him informed of the status of the missing scientists from Norfolk. He wanted regular updates on our progress, as I told you last evening. He is the only one I told about having been to the homes of Bachman, Esposito and Cintron. I told him we were going to speak to Rita Fischer, this was before we realized she is also missing. Immediately after we left her building we were hit and Lisa was shot."

"I agree with your conclusion this morning. As 'Herbert Morrison' is Vice Admiral Lee Hing, there's too much chance that someone who's been ahead of us on too many turns, whose information is too comprehensive and resources so vast that he can purchase enough arms to outfit an army, have access to pharmaceutical equipment that allows him to reproduce specific pills, create this Fear drug, allow infiltration into Millennium and the PDC project among others, cause Naval and other Officers and their spouses to be brainwashed… I can barely believe I'm saying this but we must face the possibility that Jackson McGillicuddy is Secretary of the Navy Clayton Jarvis."

x

"Agreed," Fred Higgins says, "but it's going to be a hell of a nightmare to prove that one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is not only a Traitor but is actively working to overthrow the Government of the United States."

"As always, Special Agent Higgins, you have a true gift for Understatement."

"I'll follow you to Hell and back, Director, and I remember several times when it seems I have, but how do you plan on proving this?"

"Electronic surveillance, of any kind, even if we could get a warrant, is out of the question. We need to get someone close to him, someone who he doesn't know or suspect who can get the evidence we need, no matter how long it takes."

"That lets me out," Rosemary Hauss says, her point one of illustration that covers everyone in the room. "We had a Protection Detail for him two weeks ago." None of the other Team Leaders speak up.

"It is for this reason that our Undercover Operative has been selected and as we speak Cyber Crime is backstopping a new history and identity for," her upward look to the back row turns all heads, "Ms. Karen Wetzel."

The young woman rises to the faces turned to her, and while she hadn't expected rousing cheers the expressions leave her able only to essay a tiny wave. "Hi, everyone," reaches the middle row.

The bald announcement goes over as well as Shepherd had expected, though it's louder than she'd anticipated.

When it winds down Wetzel is searching for a crevasse in the floor to fall into and Higgins' parade ground voice carries the consensus. "With _all_ _due_ _respect_ , director, you cannot seriously be planning to send a _child_ into–!"

"Hey, I'm 20 years old and it is really rude to disparage someone in the third person when she's standing ten feet in front of you! Well, behind you."

"Rude, young lady?" Higgins had passed incredulous with the announcement, now he's between outraged and astonished. "How can you possibly be pre–?"

"I have worked with three NCIS teams already a few months ago, under Special Agents Gibbs, McGee and Kelman and I think I did a darn good job."

x

All eyes shift from her to Melanie in the second row far right. "Well, Miss, er, Wetzel… comported herself well und... der … under trying circumstances," is her quick finish.

"And when I worked on Special Agent McGee's team he said my performance was exceptional."

No one misses that SA McGee is not present but "We heard," is Rosa Arnell's sepulchral tone.

Wetzel, dealt what might be a crippling blow to her cause, rallies as best she can. "Even Director Shepherd, in my final assessment, commented extensively upon my grasp of NCIS's rules, regulations and operational parameters."

"And your talent for dancing around them when it suits your needs," Gibbs concludes.

"All except the loyalty and dedication I show to my Team Leaders, even if they do throw me under the bus." Gibbs rises, turns. "And I remind you that when we came to blows you were not my Team Leader but I was Defending mine."

This stops him for several seconds before he admits that it's "True." He glances to Shepherd, seeing her holding the baton in this orchestration. It's quite well done. This girl, this student pup had, last time she was here, fought him to a draw, fought Shepherd to two, one right in this room, so had she set up a contest with all 12 SSAs simultaneously?

He turns back to her. "Have you graduated?"

"Practically." She visibly sets up shields against his stare. "This coming Friday."

Higgins says "This isn't an Extra Credit assignment. You're not going for Magna Cum Laude at your graduation. If you do this you might be going up against someone who has caused the deaths of a dozen Agents, all of whom were far more skilled and experienced than you are."

"You're already presuming that I'll fail and die. I know the risks, Director Shepherd and I spent hours talking about this because it was her idea and I had to convince her that I could do it."

"This isn't a Test Scenario," Rosemary Hauss declares.

"Right. This is not the Kobayashi Maru, we ALL died on that one. I got kicked in the head by my partner who then choked me to death. I don't know how you each died - the director told me she was shot - but we all got up again and I'm going to come back from this _with_ a gold shield."

Hauss turns forward. "That what you told her, director?"

"Her class goes the usual route from FLETC next week, they'll seek appointment from the various agencies. Ms. Wetzel's records are being redacted and a new identity is being created. It'll be like she never applied to or went to Georgia. For however long this takes, days, weeks _or_ months, she is one of a set of Interns, essentially a Secretary, working in the Pentagon."

"I'll watch and listen, and if I find anything I'll report, but until then I'm on my own."

"You will certainly not be on your own," Shepherd declares. She looks past her shoulder. "You're still there, Abby?"

x

The screen, dark for many long moments, comes back with Abby's image from hair to chest. "Of course. Just enjoying the match. Hi, Karen."

"Hi."

"I'm all set up with the Second Generation Bio-Sensor. You remember, Gibbs, the one that I planted behind McGee's ear last year."

"I remember." The ultra tiny device had been designed by NASA to monitor temperature, respiration and a host of other medical readings. It also served as a locator, by virtue of which the man had been found when he'd been kidnapped.

"The previous generation model had to be monitored and its downloads examined but if you don't check it it doesn't get checked. This version is a smidgen bigger and, among other things, can be set to cause an alarm on the receiving computer if the readings go beyond a certain threshold. And a one second hard pressure will send out the alarm. It won't go off if you're asleep so no one will bust down your door at three in the morning, but a hard squeeze for one second will alert us and someone'll come running."

"Much appreciated, Abby," Shepherd says.

"The downside," the scientist confesses, "is that the other one stung McGee but only for a moment when I planted it behind his ear; this one'll hurt like a bitch to implant. Ever have your ears pierced?" she asks the standing woman.

"Nope, too cowardly."

"After today, it'll seem like a breeze. Come on down when you're ready."

"Got the Cone of Silence set up?"

"You bet I do. Don't want to scare everyone in the fourth floor lounge."


	5. Hunting Bait

Chapter Five  
Hunting Bait

Kevin Lamb opens the door to the fourth floor office he shared with Lisa DuBois, her forward facing desk straight on from him, and for a moment the impact of that empty desk slams his chest.

He should have anticipated. He should have been more alert. He shouldn't have been thinking about the long day, the clock, the evidence to be examined, the hunt for clues. He should have–

"Don't, Kev," Janet Levy admonishes from her own too-long-vacant desk. Hers backs the left wall so she faces Lisa's, his own 45 degrees to her right backing the right wall. His old one, where he'll install Palmer when she comes up for her transferred assignment, in the remaining corner facing Levi and the rear wall.

Janet is back on Special Restoration pending the paperwork, yet she bears Lisa's gold shield on the belt of her jeans. She was gone for so long recovering from a vicious attack, now back this morning because of another horrific attack.

What kind of a Team Leader lets two of his team get so hurt, so brutalized, so...?

"Don't what?" He can't put any life into his voice.

"Don't say, or think, what was on your face when you opened that door."

He can't look at her for long, his eyes drag right to that empty desk, that empty chair. "You know what it was."

"Yes. I know." She stands up, comes out from behind her desk and for a moment the light catches the gold below her blue tee shirt and the sigil flashes before she walks to him. "It hit me too when I walked in." She stops before him. "And I cried." She looks close to more she fights against as she reaches up, puts her hands to his shoulders. "And I've prayed every second that when we hear something it'll be that she's alive. Because I'm not going to think for one second of any bad news. But you got those bastards."

His voice is rough with grief he won't release. "Let's get the _bastard_ that sent them."

"The Talmud says 'If someone's coming to kill you, get up early, kill them first'."

Seeing the same fire in her brown eyes he starts to move away but she embraces him, holds him, his arms surround her and for the moment he doesn't want to break away any more.

But he's facing that desk over her shoulder.

'Lisa… I should have saved you.'

xxx

Gibbs returns from a consultation with Ducky (three and four shots from Lamb's Sig and he doesn't care which) and "What have you got?" is his traditional demand when he enters the bullpen but follows it up immediately with "Palmer, you're working with Lamb and Levy until I tell you otherwise to trace back last night's shooters to whoever gave them their orders but first tie up with Karen Wetzel downstairs after you tell me what you're got."

To that deluge of orders - Karen who? - the best she can catch up to say is "Okay."

Fortunately DiNozzo comes to the rescue. "We tracked three of the former techs Life Source couldn't find and turned them over to Higgins' team per your order. Victoria Fryman is in NAS Lejeune, Lydia Betanco is in Greece and Ryan Benton retired to Florida which is where I wish I were. Milton Hagain, however, was assigned to Parris Island Recruitment in South Carolina as an Instructor and is a no show. NCISRA Parris picked it up five months ago. Higgins is working on leftover clues and there's a call in for Sp-."

"The minute it comes in pass it on." Higgins should be the primary on this as well, DiNozzo shouldn't be fielding a call but

"They're not in. Last update is that they're on their way to Hagain's old stomping ground while you were with Ducky in case someone can be dug up who knows why he didn't report in."

Eleven teams, excluding Vinchense's, on aspects of this megacase and they're still short handed. "If they're not back in time, we'll take it." He heads to his desk, catches sight of the woman to his right. "You still here, Palmer? Get down to Abby."

"No, sir. I mean yes sir. I mean–" She hurries for the rear stairs to her right before Gibbs can say 'don't call me sir', thereby missing his smile as he goes around his desk and sits down.

xxx

"Hi, Abby," Karen Wetzel's greeting, a half hour later, outpaces the rapid beeps of the clear sliding door, but it's nearly lost under Brain Death's frenzied drummer's frenetic riff.

"Hey, Karen," Abby exclaims as vibrantly as her accompaniment. She can't help but notice the student is here without escort. "How are you getting on?"

"It's a whirlwind," the blonde woman admits. "Woken up at three, first time ever in a Troop Transport plane and now I'm officially phobic of helicopters, then I have to run a single, then a mass gauntlet to prove I'm qualified to be here," she looks at her watch, "and it's only after ten."

Abby thinks Karen looks younger than she had a few months ago. Then the girl with the long ponytail had been a devastated daughter desperate to do anything that would uncover her father's murderer and Abby thinks she might have been happier in life had she never learned the gruesome truth.

Now she's an interrupted student about to charge headlong into the lion's den with a raw steak hanging from her cross necklace, and Abby knows it's her job to provide the seasoning.

"I met with Cynthia Sumner," Karen tells her, "who gave me a rundown on my new identity and history."

"Who are you?"

"Actually they kept me as Karen, I think so I wouldn't get confused and answer to - or not answer to - the wrong name." She drops her tone. "Tim McGee did the actual work, saying he knows me best from when he was my Team Leader, but I'm really not sure he trusts me."

"See, I knew you were perceptive."

"Thanks, I–" She belatedly hears the words. "Gee, thanks. Is this 'gang up on Karen McKnight Day'?"

"Definitely," Michelle Palmer says from her right and both agents wince at the woman's jump.

" _Jesus_!" Karen clutches her chest as she backs away from the petite woman toward the freestanding workstation. "Where'd You Come From?"

"The ballistics lab," she indicates the small side room with a casual glance.

"And just popped in?"

"Well, I could have had bells on and it wouldn't have helped against Brain Drain. Abby would you mind?"

"It's Brain Death," she says, reaching for the remote upon the table behind her.

"I knew that stuff would be the end of you."

x

As the music fades she goes on to tell Karen that "I expected you down here a while ago." Gibbs had assigned her half an hour ago.

"I _said_ I was with Director Shepherd's Secretary going over the details of my new identity."

Michelle reads, rather than irritation from the fright as had come through in her tone, apprehension in the younger woman's eyes, but after their last encounter she hopes it's restricted to the upcoming mission. She remembers too well being apprehensive so often about not screwing up an assignment that she frequently screwed them up. "Well, I really hope that after last time – you _see_ , that's exactly what I didn't want!"

"What?"

"Your eyes." She takes hold of the modified silver pentagram hanging before her breasts upon the silver chain. She'd been willing to let the 'popped in' reference go but "Three times since you saw me your eyes have flickered to this."

" _Sorry_."

"I figured by now that you would distinguish between Wiccan Faith and 'Bewitched'."

"I'm _Sorry_."

She sees Abby's eyes and hopes her friend won't mention that she, who would lecture the new Probette - how weird is that? - isn't immune from the crossover, not with having invoked 'Witch's Honor' with her west coast Coven Sister aboard the Pacific Princess over keeping the secrecy of her pregnancy.

"You're going Undercover against some really perceptive people, one or more of whom killed a bunch of my friends, our friends," she expands, bringing in Abby, "two of whom tried to murder two of our friends last night and we don't _know_ about one of them. If you slip up someone will take out a .45 and blow your head apart like an overripe melon."

"You don't think I can do this."

"No, quite frankly I don't." She sees the declaration hit hard but from what she's seen on the recorded conference in MTAC it's not hard enough. "And neither does anyone else."

x

Yes, that was harder, but from what she's seen on the recording Abby had let her share since they're sure every other Field Agent is being briefed on her or his new assignment, and with what she remembers about the girl from last time, that blow was still not hard enough.

"Okay, I know I didn't impress any of you the last time I was here. I don't even really know why I'm here today. But that was months ago and I'm much better now than I was then."

Michelle touches the altered Wiccan charm. Jimmy had had it made with a silver cross within the inverted pentagon as a symbol of her dual faiths. "You couldn't even keep your eyes from shouting your thoughts for four seconds."

"I _thought_ I was safe among friends, among a former partner if for only two hours, not that I–!"

Her expression fierce, Michelle thrusts her hand out, fingers splayed, to Karen's face. "CATASTROPHUS!" and the would-be operative jumps back to collide with the workstation.

Michelle slowly lowers her hand, giving Wetzel enough time to wipe the terror from her face but she doesn't manage it. "What was that?" She makes her tone heavy with disappointment. "A Catastrophe spell? Really? How Harry Potterish."

Karen pushes off the station. "Well–"

Fists slammed to hips, she hits her with "We don't even _use_ Latin."

"Not that that was good Latin," Abby interjects.

"Thank you."

"So you don't use Latin?" Abby continues in the same casual vein.

"Nope, never. Though if the mood hits me I will go in for Mandarin to mix things up. But Mother McGee knows a lot more Latin than I ever will."

"Who'da thunk it?" But the expressions they turn on Wetzel are serious.

x

"Well, if this is what people think, that I'm a busybody screw-up, then I shouldn't even be here. They were wrong to call me up here." She starts toward the door. "I should tell the direct–"

Now Palmer's expresses her heavy disappointment in crashed shoulders. "Karen, you _so_ don't get it."

This turns her back. "Huh?"

"There is a huge difference between having faith in you and being confident that you won't get killed."

"If people didn't trust the ones who said you could do this," Abby says, "you wouldn't even be here."

"But I am here. Scared to ever-loving death but I'm here."

"But you're here too soon," Michelle insists. "A year, two, to take on an Undercover assignment of this magnitude, not now, not today. I confess that if I were given this task solo, I'd be scared spitless. My husband's an ME but that's not the kind of exam I want him to give me. Shepherd hopes you're ready, but not one of us believes you're ready until you do."

"So that's why the hazing."

She smiles, "Karen, Gibbs can teach you hazing such as you've never dreamed. But from the minute you walk out of this room until the day you come back under your own power, whether that be weeks or months from today, you had better see every man and woman you see as a potential enemy who'll put a bullet in your head on the order of a psychopathic mass murderer."

x

x

x

"I'm… not sure I can do that."

"Excuse me," Abby says, steps past her and, with a series of commands on the keyboard, opens a white form screen headed by a company name and logo. She skips the initial sections and types centered upon the first long line SA KAREN WETZEL and on the next, in smaller type, today's date.

"What are you doing?"

"Ordering your tree plate."


	6. Answers from Down South

Chapter Six  
Answers from Down South

They arrive in the Bullpen separately but it's nine minutes after CGIS SA Abby Borin joins Air Force OSI Lieutenant Frank Oswald and Army CID Colonel Hollis Mann and Gibbs updates them on DuBois' shooting and the MTAC Conference that DiNozzo sets his phone down. "Boss, Special Agent Spears of NCISRA Parris Island is holding in MTAC."

"Higgins and his people in the building yet?"

"Not yet, boss." They're assigned to track the four unaccounted for former technicians from the Life Source project, three of whom have easily been located and confirmed but the last update had them checking the past activities of Milton Hagain, the only one whom confirmation of reassignment had not come back on. They're working backward from where he left, this is forward.

Gibbs is across the imaginary threshold between DiNozzo and David's desks, turns and his impatience slaps the six agents. "WELL?"

"On your six, boss," DiNozzo declares.

But as the man turns to resume his interrupted trek to the stairs Hollis Mann's "On your eight thirty five" halts him and he directs a stare in that direction. That it's so ineffective makes him seriously consider expanding Rule #12 except he's already confirmed Wednesday evening.

He resumes his interrupted leadership to the stairs.

xx

The huge MTAC screen lights before the seven agents upon a most comely strawberry blonde woman whom Tony is certain cannot be more than thirty years of age except he's already been informed that she's SSA of one of the nine South Carolina MCR teams. The scarlet band along the screen bottom, which he considers inconveniently placed, identifies her as 'SSA Louise Spears, NCISRA Parris Island SC'.

"Good morning."

"Hope it will be." Gibbs introduces those with him.

"Hm. Something of a League of Nations."

"That supposed to be a crack about my age?" he quips.

"Not yet. When I crack you, Agent Gibbs, you'll know it."

Her assurance obliges him to ask, when memory fails to pull in the woman with the impertinent smile, "Do I know you, Spears?"

"Not as Spears, no, but as Betts you know my uncle Felix."

This brings his own smile. Felix Betts, Dan McLane, Mike Franks, Dwayne Pride and he were the famous, or infamous depending upon viewpoint, Fed Five. "Good man."

"The best. So, what can Parris Island do for you and yours? Strictly for old time's sake, of course."

"Milton Hagain." He knows DiNozzo has covered the man with at least one of Spears' team.

Her expression sours. "You mean Waldo, as in Where's? We've been looking for him for five months."

"Felix would've given you two."

"Felix would've given me one. I'd've shared earlier and gladly if I'd known he'd come up on your radar, and it might've been reaching out for that old time's sake except that from all indications he wasn't in your bailiwick but mine. For those of you who like mysteries slightly removed from the Bermuda Triangle, you'll love this."

"Let's have it."

She leans back in her chair and this is evidently a story one must get comfortable for, but no one in DC sits down.

x

"Five months ago Navy PO3 Milton Hagain, from _your_ bailiwick and I still don't know what he was doing up there but I'll vent that aggravation later, received Orders transferring here, MC Recruit Depot, as an Instructor. He's supposed to be a high tech electronics man. When he didn't report in they made the usual inquiries, after two days they gave it to us and I have been running in so many circles since then that I've become very familiar with my own back."

"What have you got?"

"He boarded a plane at Dulles International on March 11 and touched down in Beaufort County Airport at 1435. We have him on Security footage in the Terminal, getting his luggage, outside getting into a cab. We tracked that cab out of Airport Circle and west along Sea Island Parkway, across the Woods Memorial Bridge headed into the Bluff."

He doesn't care for the finality in her tone. "And then?"

"We expected it would have continued north on Carteret, left onto 21 and eventually into the Station. But the final time we had an image of the cab with him in it it was getting off the bridge. That's it."

"It?" If one of his team had left him hanging like this, he or she would be fixing hair by now.

The touch of a button throws up a map of the area. After the bridge there is a mall on the left before an intersection, on the right is an undeveloped area and a copse of trees.

"When the cab reached New Street on the first corner, traffic cams show no passenger in it. We interviewed the driver who said that the instant they touched land Hagain got out, paid the fare and ten more, said he was going shopping in the mall and that was the end of it.

"My team searched Mall cameras, traffic, interviewed everyone we can think of.

"Since that hour five months ago there has been no ATM or bank transaction, nothing on his Visa nor was any other card started in his name. He still owes $114.76 plus interest now on Visa, by the way. There's been no cell phone activity, his social media has gone dormant after a Facebook status blurb that he was getting on a plane to start a new job, then absolutely nothing.

"We reached out to friends and family, 746 Facebook Friends, we put out BOLOs, filed Missing Persons reports, et cetera. We contacted family - none here, friends - none here, no one has seen, heard or smelled him. We even went so far as to inspect Beaufort Cemetery for disturbed new graves and you can imagine the hew and cry over rechecking nine graves for suspicious activity. He's been off the grid for five months."

x

"You reach back for any clues here?" He doesn't need her sour look, he can plot step for step her travails on that line.

"Did we ever. I tried to work backward to find some clue as to why he _might_ have gone UA, talking each time to the Secretary of the CO of the project he was last assigned to, a Private Patricia Court, whose one and only skill seems to be saying 'no, that's Need to Know' a hundred different ways.

"By the 36th time I was ready to fly up there for the pleasure of strangling her."

"You won't need to. We've got her and we're going to turn a few more screws."

"Ooooo, can I have a turn? Pretty please?"

x

He hears a lot of frustration in that tongue-in-cheek plea and gives the woman a capsule summary of what's happened since the dosing of Captain Thomas Benes with the Phobos Formula, so christened by Abby, through their investigation of Project Life Source, offering her as much of the science as he understands.

It is, therefore, a short rendition.

"Thank you. A lot richer than I had before but I'm still as clueless as ever about Hagain."

"I'll share what I can wring out of her. There are nine former members of the project, we've located eight but only your man seems interesting."

"He's not my man. I _know_ where my men are."

It's hard to keep the smile from breaking through. In some ways Spears reminds him of the late Caitlin Todd. "I'll have my tech man send you everything we have, need-to-know be damned; it's already wide open with the bag guys having a long head start."

"Ditto from here. Maybe from both sides we can make some sense of this."

"Now you're asking too much." He signs the Controller at the left wall and, when the screen goes back to the color test bars, he turns to his expanded team.

"McGee, kick her everything we have, then meet us in the parking lot but make it fast; you, Oswald, Tony and I are going back to that Life Source place. David, Mann and Borin, Court is in a cell here in the Yard. Bring the thumb screws and water board. Palmer will stay with Lamb and Levy working on Castleton and Richmond."

"On your six, boss," Tony answers with alacrity.

He takes a step but pauses, gives Mann a very suspicious Stare #9. She doesn't say anything, eyes kept front, but he doesn't care for the way the muscles tug unsuccessfully at the sides of her lips.

xxx

As Ziva and her ad hoc team await Private Patricia Court, she focuses upon Rule #34, Never torture a prisoner physically, do it to her head.

As such, she is seated in the center seat of the wide and heavy wooden table, Abby Borin to her left and Hollis Mann at her right. Borin wears her CGIS jacket, Mann her blue uniform but Ziva wears a black blouse, her silver six pointed star necklace prominent against it. Before them the door opens and USMC Private Patricia Court enters, followed by two Marine Corporals who assume posts at either side of the resealed door.

"Please," Ziva says. "Sit down, Private."

"What do you want with me?" she asks in a voice smothered in trepidation, making no move toward the single chair.

"Merely to talk. The NCIS has opened your case to our combined jurisdiction." She reintroduces SA Borin from CGIS, the uniformed Col. Mann from Army CID, emphasizing the broad range of trouble that Court is in.

x

This time confusion trumps apprehension, but by the time she is seated that apprehension is on an upward spike. "Why does Coast Guard and Army want me?"

"We shall go into that. I am Officer Ziva David, Mossad."

"Mossad? The Israeli Secret Service?"

"Just so."

"What does _Israel_ want with me?"

"We shall go into that as well."

"I didn't _do_ anything!"

"That is exactly what we wish to discuss - the fact that you did not do anything."

"What?"

"Do you recall, some months ago, being contacted by the South Carolina branch of NCIS regarding the whereabouts of one of your former Technicians, Petty Officer Third Class Milton Hagain?"

"Yes."

"What did you tell the agent conducting that investigation?"

"Your operative, rather NCIS' operative, was trying to access information on a Classified Government Project. Naturally, I told her nothing."

"It is my understanding that PO3 Hagain had already been transferred off your project."

"Related to the project. Everything about it is Classified Top Secret. Only those who Need to Know know anything about it."

"This was a missing person inquiry, a Petty Officer who left for but did not reach his new assignment and the NCIS Special Agent tracking him did need to know that information. To whom did you pass the inquiry on to?"

"No one."

"Why not?"

"Because Milton Hagain wasn't part of our project any longer. We are not obligated to keep track of former personnel."

"So you did not see fit to tell your CO Captain Thomas Benes or even his Executive Officer Captain Patrick Kotzain that someone with intimate knowledge of the project was missing?"

This gets her no answer, which makes her inclined to go in to get it.

x

"All right, Private, let's go on to these S.S. officers whom you said wanted information on Captain Benes' habits. You do realize by now that they were not from your Secret Service, do you not?"

"They knew about Operation Life Source already. And they had all the IDs. I wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know."

"They wanted to know about Thomas Benes, his habits and activities, intimate personal information on where he could be found and when. And with this information they poisoned him in his favorite coffee shop."

"They said they were Investigating him."

"And did you pass that information along to _anyone,_ even to Captain Malone, the man in _charge_ of the N.R.L.?"

"I was ordered to tell no one."

"And could you possibly have been unaware that the Secret Service does not conduct Investigations on US Navy or Marine Personnel, that that jurisdiction belongs to NCIS?"

"They said they outrank them."

"They said. They said. And yet, despite what you say about not releasing information on the whereabouts of a missing man over a five month period because of 'need to know', you told these people all they wanted to know without verification of their authority, of their need to know, from anyone."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, we are light years beyond sorry."

"What did these phony Secret Service people ask you?" Mann wants to know. "Beyond what they wanted to know about Captain Benes?"

"That was... well, yes, the did ask me to confirm one other thing."

"And what is that?"

"They wanted to know if there is a way to shield against the Life Source device."

x

Now Ziva is ready to rip the answers out of her throat. "You are saying that Life Source can be blocked?"

"There's only one way."

"And you revealed this information without passing the inquiry along?"

"I... I guess so."  
"You _guess_ so?" Can she rip out the woman's throat before the Marines interfere? Yes. Will she? Very, very likely. "Does Hagain know it?"

"I expect so. It's theoretical but it should work."

"What is it?"

"I'm not really sure I should say. It's _really_ Need to Kn–"

She slams the wooden table so hard the blast reverberates in the room. "WHAT IS IT?"

"AN ALLOY!" she cries, jumping back.

"What kind of alloy?"

" Molybdenum–"

x

They have a second's warning, a subtle change in Court's eyes and it's not enough as she shoves the heavy table. It slams into their ribs and all three women topple over, their chairs slam to the floor and they're trapped for a moment under the overturned wooden cover.

By the time they can come out and regain their footing one of the Marines hurtles past Borin to crash into the back wall and slam to the floor.

Ziva is first on her feet as Court pivots to the other man and punches him squarely in his chest. The crack of breaking bone is loud and the man halts, agony vying with astonishment and Court readies another punch.

Ziva kicks Court in the back of her head and drives her to the side. She's sure that crack had been the man's sternum splitting and, if so, the second blow would drive the bony shards through his heart.

Mann and Borin, having come around the overturned table from each side, converge with Ziva on Court. The woman grabs Ziva by her shirt, pivots and Ziva's feet leave the floor as she's thrown ten feet through the air to crash into the door.

A kick to Borin's chest drives her back and Court blocks Mann's punch, steps close and grabs her head with both hands.

Hollis, knowing what Court is going to do, has less than a second to get her arms up and pressed tight before a vicious twist wrenches her head and agony blasts through her neck. Hollis goes down hard onto her back, having saved herself by hardly an inch but her neck is still so wrenched she can't raise her head from the floor.

x

Abby, horrified at the sight, aims a devastating punch at Court and is astonished when her wrist is grabbed. Court pulls her past, pulls her arm down, back and upright. Abby shrieks as her arm is wrenched from her shoulder and she falls forward, slams to the floor.

Ziva and the remaining Marine, on opposite sides of the room, make eye contact and coordinate a rush. Ziva aims low to foul the woman's legs while the man aims to her torso to bring her down. Ziva's attack hinders Court not at all, the woman catches the Marine, his rush countered with titanic force and, holding him by shirt and crotch, she hoists the larger, heavier man high over her head, bends and flings him down to slam to the floor beside Ziva.

Kicking free of Ziva's arms she grabs a handful of her hair and wrenches her up and off her feet, holding her dangling by her hair. Court draws back her fist.

BANGBANGBANG is deafening in the small room, Court's chest thrusts forward with every blast and Ziva drops to her feet. She looks past Court to the Marine laying upon the floor, left hand at his broken sternum, his pistol in his other hand.

Court, seemingly unfazed by the deadly impacts, punches Ziva so hard her neck wrenches as her head snaps back. The force spins Ziva around and Court grabs her by shirt and belt and hoists her, supine, into the air high over her head.

Knowing what's to come, she kicks back, catches Court's head and a moment later Ziva is slammed to the floor. The colossal impact stuns her, flares agony from head to hips but, believing Court intended to break her over her knee, she prefers that to a shattered spine.

Court turns and her back flows with blood - which should be coming from her heart.

x

Borin sits up, holds her arm in place as she fights to her knees. Court sees her and kicks her hard in the side. Abby screams an instant after a loud crack comes from within her chest and she's driven eight feet along the floor.

BANGBANGBANG staggers Court back and for a moment she's halted. Fighting the pain Ziva fights to her knees, doubles her fists and slams them into the tightly grouped wounds, which titanic impact doesn't faze Court.

She turns and before Ziva can block it her hand flashes in and grips her throat.

Ziva has been strangled before, both by hand and garrote but never with such horrendous force. The fingers crush her neck, squeeze through muscle and sinew and another tightening will crush her throat!

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG thunders in the room and the pressure on Ziva's throat eases slightly, enough for her to slam the palm of her hand into the bend of Court's elbow, the impact enough for her to wrench clear.

x

Patricia Court staggers, three shells through her chest and nine through her back, but she does not go down. Blood squirts from the wounds to cover the floor and she again reaches for Ziva, hands clawed to rend flesh from bone.

Ziva sees Mann struggling to leave the floor, having to support her head. Borin lays near the wall, clutching her ribs. With twelve bullets in Court, blood fountaining from chest and back as she staggers to reach for Ziva's throat, the wounded women have no chance of surviving the battle as Mann reaches her feet.

Court turns to her.

Abby shrieks, the high pitched cry turns the woman's head to her and Hollis steps in, shoves Court's left arm aside, steps to her left side, grabs the woman by jaw and back of her head as Court had done to her, shoves and yanks as a double crack reverberates in the chamber.

x

Court halts for a moment, on her face a demonic desire to maim, rend and murder, then she falls to her knees, a moment later pitches forward and lands face down in the streams of her blood.


	7. Consequences

Chapter Seven  
Consequences

/I am certain that Tony would describe it as PCP on Steroids./ Ziva's voice comes through Gibbs' phone as he stands in the final approach corridor to the Life Source chamber. Within that chamber are Tony, McGee, Air Force OSI Lieutenant Frank Oswald, Project head Captain Patrick Kotzain, Executive Officer Paul Lewiston and 72 Technicians. Out here with Gibbs are outrage and fury and he intends to nurse and coddle, feed and cultivate them before turning them loose inside.

He'd sent three women to interview, and if necessary to lean on, Private Patricia Court, former Aide to the former head of this Project Life Source. Ziva is speaking to him from the Branch Health Clinic on N SE inside the Yard, all three women are injured, two Marines ditto and Court is dead.

"How are they?"

/Abby Borin has fractured left ribs as well as a dislocated right arm. She was laying on the floor when Court kicked her and she slid eight feet across the room. Court pulled her arm out of her socket with her bare hands.

/Colonel Mann managed to secure her head from being twisted far but still suffered wrenched neck muscles. Had she not gotten so secure a grip she would be dead. She did, however, return the treatment./ Ziva's voice is toneless, which tells him she's controlling and that the reality of the fight is worse than she intends to convey. /Beyond that were bruised ribs when the table struck us./

x

Gibbs works hard to contain his temper. He's not ready to let it loose yet, nor does he want a new phone.

/Corporal Young suffered bruises and lacerations from being thrown across the room into a wall, torn ligaments in his left arm when Court threw him, then a concussion when he was flung from a height of seven feet onto the floor. Corporal Hunt's sternum was broken in half. He has the least number of injuries but the worst. He is stabilized and is on his way into George Washington University Hospital for surgery. The shards could have punctured his heart. But he is the one who managed to shoot Court in the torso twelve times, four of which struck her heart which slowed her down.

/I am fine./

"Yeah, I'm sure you stayed out of it."

/I am fine./

It's as definitive as he expects from her, but he'll get the truth, and a much more complete report, from Ducky, who will examine the women and give them more complete treatment than even the Navy Yard Health Clinic can. He'll assure that.

"What happened?"

He's not surprised to hear that /I believe it was a variation of what we have been dealing with. She was normal, typically cowardly and raccoon brained,/ he won't correct the squirrel /and suddenly she was a super-strong murder machine. She suffered twelve fatal wounds, four of them through her heart, and still fought us five to one and nearly won./

x

He is too familiar with the effects of PCP, Abby can give him the full story but he doesn't care. Under its influence pain, which normally hinders the use of the body's full strength, is as good as turned off. Ducky says a man could lift and throw a three hundred pound boulder thirty feet if he's willing to tear every tendon and muscle in his body. But Court had no access to PCP and he doesn't believe an autopsy will turn up a grain of the stuff in her body.

He's even more familiar with the explosions of strength that come with refusal to feel, and he's sure Ducky will give him ten minutes on the subject.

He doesn't want them.

"What set her off?"

/We managed to get her to admit there is a way to shield against Life Source. She told us that one of the ingredients is Molybdenum and then she attacked./

He slaps the phone closed and shoves it into his pocket, stalks to the door.

He's cultivated his fury long enough.

x

" _HEY_!" thunders through the Life Source chamber over the impact of the door against the left wall and several of the Technicians ranged on his right on the ascending platforms do rise and go for their weapons but he knows they won't fire without orders and all he cares about are the five men on the topmost level, two of them uniformed but three of them his.

He takes each deep step hard, anger growing with every step until he's at the top. He walks through DiNozzo, McGee and Oswald who wisely clear away and Kotzain backs away from him, surprise moving him in retreat from the rage and when he's out of room Gibbs' face is six inches from his and Lewiston is on the other side of the agents.

"You know this machine can be blocked and you didn't tell us!"

"Blocking the device isn't relevant to–"

Gibbs fist hits the wall beside the chief's head, which doesn't dent it. He's not sure about what dents would be caused if he hadn't intentionally missed. "I have three injured agents in the hospital, one had her neck nearly broken, another close to dismembered; two Marines also severely injured, one of them almost died and one of your staff is dead because of your _Damned_ Need-to-Know! Your Corporal Court, with a dozen bullets in her, four through her heart, took out all five of them out when she was about to answer that question. Now Milton Hagain has probably told a mass murderer how to block you so _How's_ it done?"

He's sure Kotzain would like to assert himself, which is why he'd laid the summary on so thick even at the risk to Tony and Tim but he does get the answer.

"There's… there's a way, but it's complex and almost prohibitively expensive–"

"This Bastard's got more money than some countries. What is it?"

He has his hand an inch from his Sig and, without looking directly, sees DiNozzo and McGee are as ready. If Kotzain, Lewiston or anyone else even _looks_ suspicious he'll put six through that man's brain.

"It's an alloy consisting of Molybdenum, Herculaneum, Beryllium, Mercury, Wolfram, Titanium, Osmium, Plutonium, Palladium and Lead.

"It needs specific volumes of the metals and must be at least forty inches thick."

"Easy."

x

Gibbs steps away, knowing that despite his proclamation two things are not easy; the manufacture of such an alloy and, if it's been used to shield McGillicuddy's base, that's where he'd be holding the missing scientists, his arsenal and himself – and thus there may be no way of getting through it.

He closes on Kotzain until they're an inch apart. "Can you find it?"

"If whoever you want is using it to block out a specific area," he says, his mind on the wounded making him more willing to cooperate, "like a building, he'd have to shield all six sides without a break, but on Life Source it would show up as a dead area."

"So you _can_ _find_ it."

"Agent Gelbs, you must understand the enormity of the task: one unknown spot, like a building, that's not showing life of any kind, a complete blank even against insect life, it'd be like looking for an unknown bungalow somewhere in DC, Virginia and Maryland - if it is that close - in a visual search with no clue on how to identify it."

"Fine. Get started."

x

Kotzain stares at him, probably not sure what to feel, but then he gives up and goes to Lewiston, which gives Tony and Tim their chance to approach. "Ziva, Abby and Hollis?"

" _They're_ _in_ –" He forces it down, works for a calm, level tone but is satisfied with half that. "They're in the Clinic in the Yard." He gives them the rundown Ziva had given him. "She says she's okay," but he knows very well what DiNozzo would remind him of.

"Ziva would say she's okay if she fell off a cliff onto sand instead of boulders."

He looks to McGee, reading his expression. "You got something to say?"

"Boss, the search he described would take days if it can be done at all."

"You got a better idea?"

"Uh, no, boss, I don't."

Looking behind him he signals Frank Oswald to approach. "We're going back to check on our agents. Can you keep these guys busy?"

"Consider it done. Give them my best."

xxx

"I've run out of ideas," Mark Esposito admits, looking up at the PDC/10. The tall device gleams under the spotlights, a control panel at waist level, the body rising into a huge cannon-like muzzle angled twelve feet off the floor.

"I did that two days ago," Jeremy Cintron confesses. The barrel of the huge device is pointed upward to the sky but none of them have ever believed the weapon's targets are in that direction.

Catherine Bachman shrugs. For the entirety of their captivity they have been stalling the Technicians working with them. They have often thanked God that the men do not understand the physics of the device or the capabilities of the components they have been installing, switching out, repairing and replacing and re-replacing since the madman Jackson McGillicuddy had demanded, on pain of their families' lives, that they make the device work.

"So, we're agreed," Esposito says. There's no need to put the question to a vote. They'd done that on their first day here and nothing has changed.

"I could wish to see the sun one more time," Catherine says. None of them mention families, it's too heart-wrenching a subject.

This huge chamber, which they believe to be an aircraft hanger somewhere a half hour away from their unknown cell, has no windows any more than does the steel lined chamber where their families are imprisoned. Each morning and evening they are trundled, with black bags over their heads, from the steel cell to the steel chamber and back.

The trip takes a half hour each way but the turns change daily, so they've given up speculating on the routes from one to the other.

x

"Wish we could guess when he's going to use it," Cintron says.

"No way to tell, but I've never believed any of us would be alive when he does."

They haven't seen their captor since that first day here, but they'd long recognized that when he was done with them they would all die.

"It's not death I mind so much," Esposito says, "as it is being so helpless to do anything about it."

"The thing I mind," Cintron says, "is not even knowing if we're in a populated area or way out in the country."

"Either way, we failed to stop him," Catherine says, "so when he does cut this thing loose at someone, may God have mercy on our souls."

xxx

Gibbs, Tony and Tim have met with Ziva, Abby Borin and Hollis Mann at the Yard Clinic and have found their injuries, even discounting the reports of doctors and nurses, to be more extensive and serious than Ziva had revealed. As it's nearing Change of Shift Gibbs has relented from his usual drive for progress and has sent all five agents to their homes as soon as the women are medically released.

He returns to the Squad Room alone, his attention on the many hours of paperwork needed to document their day's progress. He could have kept the men - Palmer is upstairs with Lamb's team - but if he's not satisfied with her condition Ziva will begin pushing papers in the morning.

Abby Borin is out of action, her reset shoulder will be sore for days but her broken ribs will take several weeks to heal so even if she returns before the case is wrapped up she'll be on paper duty. Hollis, on the other hand, has already informed him, quite firmly in fact, that he is not going to get out of being her escort to the Awards Dinner Dance in three days.

Thus he's deep into reports and doesn't look up when the light upon his desk changes, but even reading he can see that Michelle Palmer has come down from the rear staircase to his left.

"Sir?"

"Told you not to call me 'sir', Palmer. I'm a working man. Why aren't you working?"

She glances at the clock, 1641, and at the empty desks in the bullpen. "Ma'am, Special Agents Lamb and Levy," by this time he's looked up at the impertinent woman who used to be scared around her shadow, "have gone to the hospital. Special Agent DuBois is in Recovery, so I thought this would be a good time to bring you up to date on our progress."

"How's DuBois?"

"Agent Lamb took the call, he said to us that she's been regraded from Critical to Serious, but they got all the bullets. One of them had fractured but they got all the pieces. Now we wait."

They'll have more when more is known, mostly by Lamb and Levy.

"Fred Castleton and Jed Richmond?" They're the ones who'd shot the woman three times point blank. Lamb had taken them out and his abbreviated team - DuBois out and Levy reinstated, together with Palmer - is researching them, trying to find where they were between Dishonorable Discharges and being shot by Lamb.

"Well, you emailed – that is Tony emailed everyone how Abby had ID' both of them and that they'd been Dishonorably Discharged, but consistent with what Special Agent Spears had reported–"

"On target, Palmer."

So complex is this case becoming, involving as it does all twelve MCR teams, (and Spears falls under Higgins' purview) an agent on each has taken to sending out mass emails to more than two score agents whenever any fact is determined.

x

"Well, sss–. Consistent with PO3 Milton Hagain, within a month of Discharge each of them went dark. It's not a matter of redacting, their records simply stop. Each of them wrapped up what affairs were left open in their civilian lives since they enlisted, then they supposedly moved and no neighbor, of course, questioned anything. But since those dates until they grabbed and shot Special Agent DuBois we can find absolutely no record of either of them. Three times it happened…."

"Go on."

"And I'm willing to bet it's more like three hundred."

"Probably as many as work for McGillicuddy."

"How do we track so many people if they've been Vanished and we don't know yet that they're missing?"

He wishes he had an answer. "Go home. Pick it up upstairs in the morning."

xxx

Tony didn't have much time when he got to his apartment to prepare for his date but he didn't need time before Jeanne Benoit arrived. This date, potentially their last one here together, is a recreation of a recreation.

When he had first wooed her so long ago, in his guise as Anthony DiNardo, University Film Professor, he'd recreated a non-impromptu parking lot picnic complete with furniture, checkered tablecloth, candles et all. It had been a pivotal moment, a moment when he'd fully admitted to himself that he loved her. Tony DiNardo was a fiction, his heart had not been.

It's hard to admit to himself that too soon from tonight those days will be over.

It's somehow fitting that, as their days here together draw to a close, he should recreate that moment. If all they are to have now are to be memories of happy times here, she deserves the best.

The dinner is the best La Château Julienne can offer, a special delivered catered deal, and concludes with baked Alaska. But ultimately it does end, and much as he would like to freeze this moment, it comes to an end with the last taste of dessert.

"Well," Jeanne says, the moment no longer to be put off, "today I went to Human Resources and signed my final papers."

"Any regrets?" Maybe if there were….

"Over saying 'goodbye' to friends, not over the job. There are a lot of memories, but I'm looking forward to the change. I wasn't sure I would, sure as I was, but I am.

"Friday I go in for my final official day, but it's going to be nothing more than hugs and kisses and some teary goodbyes," she admits. "I'll be gone by about ten. Then Saturday…."

"Florida."

"Florida."

"Is there any way, any way at all, that I could convince you to stay here?"

"Here tonight? Sure. In DC?" She reaches out, takes his hand. "No."

xxx

It's 1923 and Jimmy Palmer, as he rides the elevator up, tries for the thousandth time to put his mind in order. Since literally _meeting_ his daughter only 24 hours ago, he has to start thinking, seriously thinking, as a young father.

Except tonight he doesn't want to think of anything, not temporal implications, not World War Three, not the eighteen bullets pulled out of a Lance Corporal to determine which of them killed him because there were three shooters and one of them will stand for murder.

No. Think of nothing. Think of bed, because tomorrow is another day and that likely means another autopsy unless there are more questions concerning this most recent one.

He opens the door, fairly surprised to find 'Chelle standing in the middle of the room.

She'd been so stressed, first by what their daughter had revealed to them, then by what happened to Lisa DuBois, that he'd have considered it quite understandable had she retired to the comfort and escape of their bed.

"I have to leave soon," she says. "I have a 2100 meeting with Kendra Little at the Temple."

"Oh." Much as he may like the large black woman (she so reminds him of the Caretaker in charge of 'Warehouse 13', not that he's likely to ever tell her that) he's never felt comfortable about that place. "How do you think it will go?"

"Honestly?"

"Uh huh."

"Badly. I don't have much time." She comes to him and hugs him tight. "I've been waiting for you. I need a hug before I do this."

He holds her even more closely. "Should I wait up for you?"

She takes several moments to think about it. "No."

He holds her until she looks up at him. "I will anyway."

xxx

"How is she, Doctor?" Kevin Lamb asks in the hospital hallway. It has been too long but though he and Janet are anxious to see Lisa, they want to consult the surgeon who had been tied up for so long. At ICU there's a very long work station between two widely spaced maroon doors in the maroon hall (what idiot chose that depressing scheme?) and he and Janet Levy stand outside it with Dr. George Ives; tall, thin, mid-50's, graying hair, assuring smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

They always watch eyes.

"I predict an eventual recovery."

"But." Levy doesn't like when someone describes a Critical patient with predictions of 'recovery'. They tend to leave far too much out.

"Doctor, we are not family," Lamb reminds him in stony tones, "nor anyone whose feelings need sparing. She is a Federal Agent and our partner. I was there when she was shot, I tried to plug three wounds with two hands after I blew away the bastards who did this to her. Don't sugar coat it."

"I'm also her Medical Advocate," Janet declares and Lamb blanks his face, not wanting to ruin whatever play she's running but "you can look it up." She looks to Lamb. "Her family's in Idaho, we planned for a day we couldn't reach each other's families on crucial ten minute matters."

"I'll look that up," Ives says, "but in the meantime I can tell you, based on your jobs which I don't understand the rules of anyway, that we lost her twice when her heart stopped during surgery." Janet presses her clenched fist to her lips to silence her feelings.

"She had lost so much blood," he continues, "that we had to give her three pints before she was stable enough for us to begin. Her intestine was perforated because of the angle of one of the bullets. Of the other two, one fractured on her pelvis causing additional damage. Bottom line, the damage that will have long term consequences for her is that her uterus and right ovary were destroyed. We had to perform a radical hysterectomy."

x

Janet locks her breath and opens her fist to clamp the hand over her mouth, for if she breathes she might be sick - or cry. Leese's favorite Obsession, the one that gives her the greatest anticipatory joys for so many years, the one they've gone around and around on for so many years, is her future children.

There were so many versions, so many futures. She would fluctuate from one child all the way up to a record of nine, rising up and down the scale and her predictions for their futures were as broad and varied. Yesterday afternoon it was to be a girl, Gigi and a boy, Jean; World Famous Concert Pianist and the Commander of Earth's First Colony on Mars.

The whisper "Does she know?" slips past her lips before she can stop it.

"It is our policy," he tells her firmly, "not to deliver such news to patients immediately out of surgery."

Janet forces herself to put her hand down, to meet Ives' eyes, but it takes real effort to meet Kevin's. He hasn't been spared, had endured since even before becoming their Team Leader, the women's conversations which had been more detailed than one might expect from many real mothers.

"I should tell her," is the best whisper she can force, and she can see in his eyes that he's not anxious to jump in and volunteer.

"Later," he reminds her.

"Much later," is no louder a whisper.

xxx

DC's Wiccan Temple is somewhat grandly named, but the three story stone structure is nonetheless impressive, at least in the residential community in which it sits. It started life as a Knights of Columbus Hall in the bygone days when Fraternities were strong and bills were low, ultimately it became the victim of rising operating expenses and wildly uncontrolled taxes rather than declining membership.

Now being able to take advantage of Non-Profit Religious Organization laws, the middle street level is divided into spacious anteroom and even more impressive Ceremonial Room while the upper is split among offices for the various Covens and other related groups that use the building on a rotation, each gathering one to two times per month other than for joint Festivals. The lower level below ground is kitchen, dining hall and other facilities.

The anteroom in from the street entrance contains decorative remembrances and other items of significance and the main room may be adjusted to suit the needs of different traditions, but Rising Star Coven, as Owner / Landlord, decides what goes on the walls.

x

Michelle Palmer, clad in Earth colors consisting this evening in tan blouse and russet skirt, steps through the outer door and when she sees the number of women and men gathered she's no longer relaxed. She doesn't know all the Covens that share this space, her duties keep her from attending more than a handful of gatherings beyond the High Days but it looks to her as though the High Priestesses of all the Covens are present together with a respectable number of High Priests.

Kendra Little is a large black woman who would stand out in any gathering and Michelle cuts across the hall and waits respectfully to be recognized by the Criminal Defense Attorney.

It doesn't take long. In fact, Little breaks off in mid-sentence from her conversation with her sister High Priestess of Ravenhawk Coven. "Sister Michelle."

"High Priestess."

As her counterpart moves away Little says "Disturbing news you brought me last night."

"Eminence, I thought tonight we were going to discuss the details." 'Privately' her tone says.

"And we are. But if I am to ask all the Covens to amend, or worse curtail, their activities I must know what we face." She looks to the assembled leaders who attempt to not be seen paying attention to this quiet exchange. "Walk with me, daughter."

It isn't a long journey, merely from the anteroom to the large Ceremonial Chamber, but it affords them momentary privacy, or would had Little closed the door after them. The central Altar is bare, of course. Each Coven provides its own paraphernalia, and the most notable aspect of the floor is the large white marble inlaid pentagram extending outward from the double cube Altar, single point upright to their perspective.

"How accurate is your information?"

"Completely accurate. The mundanes have a device that, well, so far as I understand it, actually detects Life Force. They detected Solitaries, but could not determine their location, not here, when a gathering intentionally sent a burst of raised energy _through_ a Circle."

"A questionable act at best."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm told that when the break occurred the ceremony ended and the trace was lost."

"What proof do you have of this device?"

"Eminence, it involves an NCIS Investigation; I was there. I saw it in operation. And it pinpointed _me_ , I don't know how, with half again as much… life essence as anyone else in the room." She sees the downward flicker of Little's eyes. It will be weeks yet before she starts to show even when unclothed but "And not because I'm pregnant."

"One could have hoped."

"Yes, Eminence."

x

Michelle would describe the look in the tall black woman's eyes as wistful.

"So after all this time, beyond the knowledge, assurance and experience that the forces we raise and the things we do are real, there is now a way to quantifiably establish and prove the Mystic. And record, I presume?"

"And track."

"And you consider this a danger?"

"I do. My… my source has information about the plans for this device, details I'm prohibited from revealing."

"A pity. I do not envy you, daughter, when National Security – I presume National Security is going to enter into this at some point?"

"Already has."

"Conflicts with the Obligations you owe to the Craft." She considers in silence for several moments. "What would you have me do?"

"I'm told by my – my source, that we were detected because the forces raised by five Solitaries in a Ceremony were sent through the Circle where they were read as two hundred fifty people occupying the space of five, a fifty time bright flare, so our first act is to see that Circles are never again breached, particularly not by Solitaries."

"Easily and wisely accomplished - within Covens. Outside, difficult in the extreme. What else?"

"I think that _if_ Circles do protect us from not only dangerous spiritual forces but from detection by this machine, and I'm sorry but that's not 100% assured, we must still restrict the use of _all_ magic to Circled ceremonies."

The look Little casts down upon her is not a pleasant one. "You don't ask much, do you?"

x

"The mundanes' perception of us aside," Little tells her, "unlike the structure suggested in Harry Potter movies - which I always believed did both good and ill for us - you know there is no central authority of any kind for our so-called Wizarding World."

"Yes, ma'am. I mean no ma'am."

"I can bring this information to the other Covens for them to accept or reject as they like - and it is my faith in you that makes me accept your word that we are in some unknown danger - but I have no power over any other Coven and I would be the most vehement responder to anyone who tried to claim authority over Rising Star. I have gathered the other High Priestesses and High Priests and will present your case for their consideration - and I will urge their cooperation - but in the end that is the limit of what I can do."

That, Michelle has to admit, is the best she can hope for, but it was Su Lin who reported (predicted?) that it was Solitaries who broke the arrangement that, she hopes, will come into being tonight.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever me. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm not going to do anything worthy of thanks."

x

Little goes to the open door and invites the gathered women and men in, then goes past Michelle who remains west of the Altar to its other side and steps upon the upward white point of the marble inlaid star, a position of preeminence among equals as the others gather where they would at the western side.

"Good evening, and again thank you for coming on such short notice."

Michelle, as the women and men around her wait for the reason for this extraordinary event, is so relieved Little, High Priestess of Rising Star for longer than she herself has been a Witch, is the one facing this group. She'd never want to.

"I am told tonight that we face an extraordinary threat, one we must prepare to take action to meet. Sister Michelle Palmer, please join me."

'Ohhhhhhhhh _Goddess_!'


	8. Red Flag

Chapter Eight  
Red Flag

At 0800 Gibbs strides through the outer door of the Director's offices, catching Cynthia Sumner out of position by the right wall filing cabinets, not that either her announcement to Shepherd or her attempt to slow him would have any effect. He continues through the inner door at undiminished pace.

"I've decided to install the buzzer lock on that door," Shepherd says.

"Won't help."

"The only thing that stopped me to this point was the suspicion that you're right, but I give you fair warning. Some morning you're going to hit that door and bounce, and the video will go viral."

But this isn't their usual if occasional banter. The woman is stressed, angry and the sunlight shining in through the window behind her sharpens her image. "I got a call from Juliana Ryan."

Gibbs is surprised by the fact that the call came in this morning and not last evening, but the delay and Shepherd's mood tell him the conference of the directors did not go well.

He'd be truly astounded if it had.

"She's up to a million. She loaned us Agent Borin and less than thirty hours later the woman's in GWU Hospital with several broken ribs and will be out of commission for two months."

"Could be dead," places the conversation in worse stead. "Mann came within a few degrees of a broken neck. Two Marines almost died, one of double concussion, the other of a broken sternum which came two and a half inches from slicing his heart. Ziva claims she wasn't hurt but she called this morning and _asked_ for the day off."

That request more than any recounting of the battle they could drag from the woman conveys the seriousness of her condition.

"Do you have _Any_ good news?"

"A trend."

"I'll take it."

"So far everyone we identified, DuBois' shooters, the ones who took Cintron and Fischer and the missing Life Source Tech, had their histories erased, likely by someone like Kamal Konkani used to be. We have them up to the day they left the Service, then they simply vanish. Finances, living arrangements, everything; they drop off the grid and are gone. Not redacted, completely empty. We figure anyone else we meet will be ghosts too."

"Takes a lot."

"McGee tells me it's a hell of a lot more than a twenty second Men in Black sequence. Speaking of movies and redacted, what's up with Karen Wetzel?"

"Karen _McKnight_ starts this morning as one of three Interns in the SECNAV's Pentagon offices. She's to keep her head down and her eyes and ears open."

He doesn't try to picture that. "And report how?"

" _If_ she finds anything," which will mean our suspicions are correct and the Secretary of the Navy is in league with - or actually is - Jackson McGillicuddy, she is to wear red when she leaves for work on a morning. Her apartment house is being observed from a different location each morning and an Agent will contact her at a suitable time, place and manner. Not even I will know the method. I want the agent involved to tell no one how it will be done."

'Agent involved.' He supposes he doesn't need to know. First time in weeks that phrase hasn't rankled. Until they know how McGillicuddy is getting away with so much, he likes secrecy. "Sounds good."

Shepherd's boiling aggravation finally finds a vent, "It _sounds_ like a child's version of a cloak-and-dagger scheme and the psychs agree it'll work only because no Agency would be so naïve as to try it in real life."

"The Beary Smiles School of Espionage."

"Damned right."

Gibbs' phone rings and when he pulls it from his pocket the number is unfamiliar. "Yeah, Gibbs."

He listens for twenty seconds, briefly meets Shepherd's eyes and she picks up her phone, activates the intercom to his bullpen.

Sometimes having a long time partner is invaluable.

ooo

Captain Patrick Kotzain, seated at his office desk, jumps from his chair when the LS alarm, so frigging loud it could be heard in the secure chamber meters below, shrieks at him. It's the first time he's heard it; Tom Benes had had it installed when he was Project Director and he immediately decides the man was either a masochist or deaf. More likely he was one with aspirations of the other.

Unable to yell 'Shut Off That Damned Noise!' - he's alone - he must resort to keyboard commands while wincing and attempting to endure the eardrum pulverizing blast. He silences the klaxon and makes a mental note to have the system ripped out and stomped upon.

He stabs the intercom button for the L.S. chamber, belatedly realizing he has nothing against this device. "What In Hell Was That?"

"Sorry, sir," says an unidentified voice, a failure of protocol but if Kotzain was deafened from so far away he'll forgive the omission this time. "The system seems to be set a little high."

"This is a Top Secret Project, mister." At least it was. "The Kremlin's not supposed to know about it."

"Sorry, sir. But that contact we were to look out for has appeared on the system."

"What was its approach vector?"

"There was no approach," is the astonishing answer. "It appeared at coordinates 42.137-59.496."

Those figures are too familiar. As he calculates the position based upon the last digits of each trio his blood, which had been set on simmer, boils over. At less than six and a third miles, straight line, it's practically on their doorstep.

"Which one was it?" The system had been set to alert them if any of four former members of Project Life Source came into range, something he hadn't believed would ever happen. Most especially he's unhappy with that distance. It's far too close, well in range of nearly every test they've ever run.

"Milton Kotzain. But sir, the contact lasted thirty seven seconds, then it was gone.

"Focus on those coordinates." He's right, he doesn't like them at all. "I'll be right down."

x

There are days when Kotzain appreciates the complexities of reaching the Life Source Chamber, most particularly the long double switchback corridor with the hidden machine gun emplacement, and days when he does not, but when he arrives in the heart of the LS project and looks back and up from the door at the huge screen this is a very bad day.

The outer border of the screen is a vibrant green of ambient life surrounding a long black rectangle.

"I hate that bastard," he says as he pulls out his wallet and draws from it a small white business card. He'd truly hoped he'd seen the last of Special Agent Galbs.

Gibbs.

ooo

When DiNozzo, McGee and Palmer push through the door to Shepherd's office they find the attentions of their bosses locked upon the wall mounted plasma screen and a close-up of Captain Patrick Kotzain,

Gibbs brings them up to date, concluding by handing McGee a sheet of paper. Upon it he'd written 38° 44' 55" N, 76° 57' 21" W. "That Life Thingy can't read the spot where Hagain was. What's down there?" He only cares that it's not far, but he can't place the seconds.

As McGee pulls his modified PDA from his shirt pocket, Kotzain explains that "The contact was brief, in and out in less than a minute. We can see the void area on screen. It measures 427 feet long by 173 wide, but we don't have satellite imagery, just those coordinates."

"We'll take care of that, skipper. You keep watching that area while we get to the real spot. Guide us to it." The map coordinates are a good start, but they need the exact spot.

"No problem. We have the reading on your agent Daneed, we can lock on and – "

"Da _ **v**_ id isn't with us."

His eyes shift to where Palmer stands sees her eyes are wide, her body stiff. But she does shift her eyes to him and he reads apprehension forcibly smothered. Her nod is reluctant but sharp and stiff.

"All right, Captain, lock on to Special Agent Palmer and get us to him."

"We'll be right back, Captain," Shepherd says and her press on the remote control blanks the screen.

Gibbs turns to the stiff woman. "You u–?"

" _Yes_ ," is a bleat but he'll take it.

He hadn't wanted to include Palmer, not after last time, but he's down by one and she'll pull together.

God help her if she can't.

x

"We should be doing this in MTAC," is Tony's view, watching his partner's work on the too small screen.

"Not until Cyber Crime gives that place a clean bill," Gibbs declares. They can't shut the system down, it's too important and wide ranging, but let it be used for some other case, not his.

"Boss, I have the location," McGee says, "and I think you're going to hate it."

'How much aggravation?' He turns on the man. "There's nothing about this case that I haven't hated."

"Err, I know, boss, but I wasn't talking to you." He picks up the remote from where Shepherd had set it down, links it to the output of his unit, displays the image and looks to Shepherd. On the screen is a Google image of a vast, spacious area. "Potomac Airfield, Prince George's County, Maryland."

"I truly detest that bastard," she declares.

x

Years ago Potomac Airfield, a fifty acre privately owned airstrip with a single runway, was where James Dempsey and Alex Rudd had held her captive in exchange for James' brother Brian and millions of dollars in drugs.

"I don't think it's not the same building they held you in," McGee reports, "that was Hanger 3," he points out a familiar building that stands well away from its fellows, "but as far as I can tell it _is_ very close, less than half a second in arc."

No one likes this, but it's Tony who gives the issue voice. "With all that open, level ground it's a cinch the method we used last time won't work."

"Ya _think_ , DiNozzo?"

"I'm thinking the approach is going to be a bitch. Last time there were two men and Je – the director kept them distracted and at odds. And it did help that Dempsey shot Rudd. But if it _is_ Jarvis he had access to the reports from back then, knows our techniques; and even if it isn't, McGillicuddy's going to have a Fortress with sentries, booby traps and the works."

"Fortress doesn't cover it," McGee counters. "If they're right about that alloy they spoke of, and it's as thick as they say it has to be, nothing short of a Blockbuster will get through."

"This won't be an assault," Tony concludes, "it'll be a siege."

"We're not going to lay siege to an aircraft hanger for the next three months," Gibbs declares and points to the image on the screen. "We need an updated picture. This tells us nothing."

"I can solve that," Shepherd says, pulling her cell phone from her pocket.

"When we get it," he tells his men - and Palmer, "we set up our assault. In the meantime," he looks hard to Shepherd, "we need an Army."

x

He doesn't get an army yet, he gets another call on his phone. "Gibbs."

/Kotzain. There's been another contact./ The man sounds happier to talk to him than he had before, and he suspects it's a realization of how far ahead these bastards are, coupled with the possibility of finding out what the hell is going on and what happened to Tom Benes. Gibbs activates the speaker, the others will need this. /Not the same one, this is seven individual points which appeared on the screen, moved slowly for a minute, then away from the void area at high speed, heading toward what appears to be a sparsely active road. There's a large area with many contacts not too far away along the same path./

"We think your void is in Potomac Airfield. That'd make the nearest town Fort Washington, Maryland."

/That looks about right. We'll keep a lock on them./

"McGee," he tosses the phone. "Put them together with you. Find where that car's going. Palmer, you drive."

"Yes, sir," she says as McGee communicates his number to Kotzain. She looks a little too relieved for his liking but that conversation will come later. Right now things are moving too rapidly for a proper dressing down.

"DiNozzo, you're with me. We'll take the airfield."

"On your three, boss!" Though it does describe adequately his position in the car, it's taken from Mann's reference earlier so he's so lucky to be out of striking range. For the moment.

"Keep your distance," Shepherd advises. "The air field and surrounding acreage is one huge plane." The pun, if one is intended, is quickly abandoned.

"Just get me my army."

xxx

Having sent Palmer off with McGee, Gibbs knows that the men of Project Life Source will direct them to the vehicle that left Potomac Airfield. He doesn't need high tech guidance to find his target, his focus is in keeping from being found. He has a set of high power binoculars in his trunk and recalls that there is a slight rise some distance from the field. He hopes that it's in a position where he can see what's going on.

DiNozzo's phone sounds as the field comes into sight.

"What's happening, McTourist?" A pause for a wondering frown. "What do you mean you're coming back?"

Gibbs signals him to turn on the speaker.

/-sure we're about a mile from the airfield./

"Where did you go, McGee?"

/According to Kotzain, the truck - it's a moving van we're a block behind - never stopped before they guided us to it. It wandered around and is on its way back. You'd better get out of sight./

"Right."

xx

From their position they have an elevated view of much of the field. When he'd started the final approach he'd parked, they'd left the car and took up positions as far from one another as possible, overlooking the area while maintaining cover.

It is ten minutes later when a white Ryder truck comes into view and drives up to three long buildings, they in sight of Hanger 3 but a considerable distance from the wide plane door. The truck stops beside the middle of a trio of hangers and, through their glasses, they see a uniformed soldier carrying a rifle exit the cab, go to the rear and raise the steel door. Another soldier jumps down and then they both assist another person down. That person, and the two who follow, are harder to see. They do not wear uniforms but their heads are covered by black hoods. Two more armed soldiers jump down from the truck.

The three hooded figures are guided to a door which swings outward and the seven enter.

Less than thirty seconds later Gibbs' phone rings. /Boss, Kotzain reports the seven signals have gone into the void./

"Yeah, we know. Where are you?"

/We stopped outside the entrance to the airfield. There might be surveillance./

"There's an elevation 648 yards from the front left corner. Meet us there."

xx

When the four are together and the target building is in sight of the crouching agents, questions abound.

"When did you catch up to them?" is Gibbs' first.

"They were already headed back," McGee reports, "but Kotzain confirmed that while the truck made a lot of turns it didn't seem to go anywhere and didn't stop."

"There are no windows in that Hanger," Gibbs tells them. "If they need full coverage to block that Life Force thingy, it'd be a tight seal."

"I'm half amazed," Tony says, "that we got the signal about Hagain. I'd think they'd keep everyone inside."

"I don't care if he went out for a smoke, as long as we got him." He doesn't point out that everyone probably goes and comes at will. It was one man who set off the alarm that had only been set the other day, and since the machine at NRL scans square miles at a time one building would otherwise not be noticed until the eggheads had focused upon it.

"There were two men and a woman, bags over their heads," Tony declares, "taken in by four soldiers."

"Those are the three scientists Lamb and his team are tracking with me," Michelle says without fear of contradiction.

"Taken out, driven around, taken back, bags over their heads, no windows in the truck," Tony summarizes. "What do you bet it's a back door, front door gimmick with their families in the back?"

"No bet, DiNozzo. Make them think their families are being held a half hour away, great way to keep them in line."

"But what are they doing," is Tony's question, "and how do we get them out?"

"I arranged with the Director for Marine and Navy Snipers, Delta Force, everything we can get in. We'll fly them right in. If this is start of shift, I want to be ready to hit them at the end.

"If possible, we get CGIS, CID and OSI to back us up."

"And Lamb and Levy?" Michelle asks.

"Wouldn't think of leaving them out."

xxx

Janet Levy hates hospitals in general and Intensive Care Wards in particular, but she fights all emotion from her face - and knows she's failed - as she opens the door to the long unit.

Seven beds extend from the right wall outward and there's a Nurse's station at the far end. Three people are here, a man in the bed closest to the station, an elderly woman two closer and Lisa is in the third from where she stands hesitating. The woman across the ward looks to her, Janet had broken protocol by using the back door, but she pulls the gold shield from her belt and holds it up. The woman returns her attention to the ring binder before her and Janet pushes the shield back onto her belt.

It's not her shield, it's Lisa's, loaned and which she's using in place of her own until her friend is on her feet and back fighting crime.

Now she lays in the third bed down, under white sheet, IV tube taped to her left arm. As Janet steps closer she sees Lisa has been properly groomed, her now blonde hair artfully arranged by someone, and the only things that move are the clear drops that fall from bag to reservoir to ultimately flow into her arm.

The sound Janet can hear most is her own breathing.

"You can wake her." The soft voice at her left announces that the nurse has come beside her but she never heard her. No, she wasn't paying attention, though she supposes a quiet tread is good for staff here.

"I didn't want to disturb her," she says even more softly. "She should rest."

"Trust me, she'll be glad of the company. All people do in here are sleep and get tested."

"Do you…." She finally really looks at the woman, most notably the pin on her uniform. "Nurse Walsh, do you know if she's been told?"

"I'm sorry. Told?"

"About her surgery, what was done?"

"No, I wasn't," comes the soft whisper from the other end of the bed. Janet's heart jumps as Lisa opens her brown eyes, but she can see they're tired. "But you know you will," is her determined whisper.

Janet steps up the space on Lisa's right side. "I'm sorry, honey."

"No, she's right, all I've done since Saturday night was sleep and get punctured."

"Yeah, you slept through Kevin and I on Sunday."

"What day is it now?"

"Monday."

"Bet Kev's chomping at the bit."

She'd love to trade small talk but she has only thirty minutes, twenty whatever now. "How do you feel?"

Lisa slowly moves her right hand below her stomach. "Ache. Feel like someone used my stomach for a punching bag."

"Close enough. Nurse?" The woman had returned to her work. "Can she get some pain killers?"

"I'll check with the doctor."

They both know that's Medspeak for 'not time yet', so they don't bother pressing.

"So, what did Ducky find?" Lisa asks.

" _Ducky_ didn't find anything with you, thank God, but the two guys, plenty is being dug up on them. But the Director gave me strict orders, 'no investigation'. I'm here strictly to ch – to cheer you up."

x

Lisa's eyes go from relaxed to focused. "What?"

"What what?" But she knows the dodge is hopeless, they're professional investigators, interrogators and they know each other too well for too many years.

"You were talking about the surgery. What should I know?"

"Nothing." Those brown eyes harden. "It's noth…." Lisa tries to sit up, always a mistake in ICU, but winces and her hand goes quickly to below her abdomen. "Try to relax. Don't worry about anyth –"

"Damn it, bitch," is grated through clenched teeth. "Answer me."

Nurse Walsh is beside them. "Please, Ms. DuBois, lie still."

"Honey, I'll tell you everything, but please relax."

She complies, not willingly but she does relax and Walsh returns to her station.

x

"Honey… those bullets. They did - they did a lot of damage, more than… more than expected." Her partner's eyes moves from fear to dread.

"What, am I paralyzed?" She moves her feet under the sheet, but even that motion makes her wince.

"No, honey, not paralyzed."

"Damn it, Jan," she whispers, " _say_ it."

"Leese, those bullets tore through… they… your uterus, your ovaries…."

Lisa's eyes go bright. "What are you saying?"

"They had to do a radical hysterectomy."

Her face freezes, eyes stop, lock on hers. Her head drops and her eyes go to the ceiling, the devastation within them terrible to watch.

"I'm sorry," Janet says, wishing she'd never come.

"Hysterectomy?"

It's like if she doesn't take it in it won't be true. "I'm so sorry. They're gone."

Lisa's face would crumple but won't move, her eyes locked on the ceiling, wet but won't tear, won't move. "Honey, I am so _sorry_."

x

"Please," is whispered so low Janet can barely hear it.

"Please what?"

"Please…" is even lower as fine vibrations shake her shoulders but are locked out of her frozen face, her staring eyes. "Go away?"

"Leese…."

Her lock is slipping, the shaking growing and her tremulous whisper is hushed. Her eyes can't hold back tears and her breath is so short and shaken the whisper can barely get out.

"Please?" trembles out of her; she won't look from the ceiling but drops trickle down past her temples into her hair. "Go … away?"

x

Janet turns, wishing she could say something but the breaking woman she leaves behind can't hear it. She goes to the door, pulls it open over the fluttering breaths, the too soft sobs. She fights her own feelings as she pulls the door open, steps through, lets the door click shut behind her to block off the grief.

There are chairs opposite her and she can't feel the one she sinks into. From her pocket she pulls a handkerchief but doesn't get it to her face before she shatters.


	9. Assault

Chapter Nine  
Assault

Surveillance for over an hour from various distances and angles have revealed much about the hanger. It is not openly guarded, nor does it have an extensive network of cameras monitoring the exterior. This confirms to the agents the priority of stealth. Since no other hanger has any excessive coverage, to have a system of cameras substituting for the open nature of an airplane hanger would invite very unwanted attention. Therefore those in charge have focused upon stealth and anonymity for their security. Gibbs considers it a foolish decision, though he's happy for it.

The truck that brought the scientists to the front door is still there, and there it will be loaded.

It has taken hours to move in the teams that will assault the bunker - he thinks of it in that manner rather than an airplane hanger and has assembled his force accordingly. An outer ring of eleven snipers surround the area at 2,000 yards. Not all of them will have an angle to take out the soldiers who he expects will bring the hooded scientists out at the end of their labors to put them on the truck but he's sure that once the assault begins there will be no shortage of targets. Those who cannot target the soldiers are in position to disable the truck.

The linchpin of the assault is the door. As it can be expected to be lined with the same metals that protect the building, if the enemy can get it closed the assault will turn into a siege orchestrated by a man who has already killed a staggering number of people, far too many by proxy or remote control.

That door must not be closed, and to that end the most risky ploy is a remote controlled quadcopter drone already lowered to the hanger roof over the door. It is packed to capacity with C4 and will, as soon as the door opens, be activated, descend to the upper hinge and detonate.

But they do not know how many captive hostages will be near the door.

The plan is to make sure the scientists are as far as possible from the blast, ideally inside the Ryder truck, before the assault begins. This means that the entire operation has a window of perhaps ten seconds from first shot to completion.

x

The second phase of the operation is a combined squad of Delta Force and SEALs who have crawled into position and are hidden on the far sides of the other two buildings. Their mission: get inside that bunker and secure it quickly, killing as few of the enemy as possible.

The final phase is the most problematic. If their Intel from Life Source is correct the families are held on the far end of the building, the back door, and that door will not be opened for a half hour. It's unlikely there's a direct connection from one end to the other, it would render the presumed deception moot. If the families are being guarded by other soldiers, things are going to get damned bad damned quick.

xx

The hours passed too quickly, too much preparation needed for an unpredictable D second. Gibbs, laying face down behind his rifle two thousand yards from the target door, had been impressed by the fact that he'd gotten his forces in place forty minutes ago. He is not tense, confident that his fellow snipers are as calm and ready as he is, and they will choose their targets with extreme care. Minutes, hours, _days_ of the life of a sniper are made up of waiting which end in that single climactic moment.

There is no need for verbal signal, everyone knows the moment of attack. He's made certain that Snipers and Delta and SEALs and Agents of NCIS, CID, CGIS and OSI are thoroughly prepared, and that they know that no enemy is to die if such can be avoided.

They do not need graves, they need answers, and interrogations must be conducted with the greatest of care. Not even the living bombs know they are such.

DiNozzo and David, in protective vests, are in position at the far forward corner on the third hanger, McGee and Palmer are on the far corner of the first. Effective as their Sigs may be, they are not in the class of the heavy artillery the SEALs and Delta Force wield to assault the heavily armored bunker. The agents' duty is to extract the three scientists from what is about to become the outer courtyard of Hell.

x

At 1741 the door opens, three people under black hoods are pressed out by four uniformed and masked soldiers and pushed toward a white Ryder truck. The door is rolled up, the three are pushed in and Hell consumes the Earth in bullets and fire, chaos and rushing bodies. The four soldiers have been wounded by precise placement of the targets. The intent had always been to incapacitate them, to remove them from the fight but leave them able to answer the hundred questions that will hit them with greater force than the bullets.

The agents perform their part with speed and precision. DiNozzo and McGee, confirming that the scientists are alone in the van, slam the door down from the inside and Ziva, already in the cab, sets a personal record in driving the truck out of the conflagration.

By the time Gibbs is on his feet the activity outside the hanger has calmed with agents freeing the three prisoners and half the warriors assaulting the rear of the building.

The back door does resist their effort (high explosives cannot be used without knowing where the captives are) but a search of the bodies of the four now unmasked men produces the keys and when Delta and SEALs assault this entrance they find only the six prisoners, who are both relieved by their rescue and infuriated by the deception.

By the time Gibbs and the other snipers reach the hanger the building is secured and DiNozzo reports an ambulance has been summoned for the wounded Chloe Bachman.

Gibbs enters the erstwhile bunker to find, in its center a too familiar, twelve foot tall gleaming weapon capable of blasting an asteroid out of existence and, lined against the wall, a score of men. Four SEALs and three Delta Force men, finding the battle quite anticlimactic once the four soldiers had gone down, are suitably imposing to those whom they guard. The balance of the elite fighters form a wide defensive perimeter and the agents will investigate. Jackson McGillicuddy will undoubtedly challenge them for the weapon within and he, if he dares mount a counter assault, will meet them and a full Task Force of Army and Marines equipped with all from mortars to tanks while the Air Force forms the outermost perimeter.

Finding his personal target, Gibbs walks up to Milton Hagain.

"Thanks for going for a smoke."

xx

For all the speed of the dénouement and the removal of the wounded girl to the hospital, the work of securing the building and transporting the prisoners is a slower process. In time, Gibbs and the varied assembled agents meet with the scientists and their families outside the hanger. He still has his rifle slung upon his shoulder, it will make little impact on the mounting heavy defenses but he'll keep it there until he can secure it in its case.

"Is everyone okay?" he asks after introductions with his and Lamb's agents are complete, his attention on the scientists. He's annoyed that McGillicuddy wasn't here; so far as he can tell the man hasn't been here in days, but he'll learn what he can from the only people he knows now have seen him face to face and are willing to talk.

The white coated men, who he's certain have been programmed to self-destruct, will be questioned far more cautiously later.

x

"I want to go with Chloe." Catherine Bachman is resolute but

"She'll get the best care, Lamb and Levy will drive you," and obtain more details, "but we need to know what was going on here."

"We thought they were going to kill us all," Jeremy Cintron says, his arm about Rita.

"We thought as soon as it was finished," Mark Esposito says, his arm about his wife, "that they would have no more use for us."

"How close are you to finishing?"

"We've been done for two days," Bachman says.

"We've been stalling, fudging results," Cintron says. "These people are technicians, not scientists. They could follow instructions but they don't understand the systems."

"We knew this guy McGillicuddy wanted to use the PDC to shoot at people," Esposito reveals, "so we made sure no one mentioned the consequences."

"You sabotaged it?"

"No need to sabotage anything," Bachman says. "Anyone who used it to shoot at anything but an asteroid would destroy themselves."

"It's a simple matter of physics that we never mentioned so few not familiar with the science ever thinks about it," Cintron says.

"The device converts the density of light from virtually zero to something infinitesimally more," Esposito explains. "It's intended to be used on an asteroid or other such space-bourn threat, and from a specially prepared location, for to be used against any other target, like with a level shot, would be cataclysmic."

"Disastrous," Bachman confirms.

"Fatal," Cintron concludes. At his partners' look, he shrugs. "I didn't want to be left out."

x

"Would someone please explain to me, in words of two syllables, what's so dangerous about a beam of light?" Janet Levy virtually demands.

"Light? Nothing. A solid mass moving at 299,792.458 kilometers per sec–." He looks to Gibbs and the rifle still slung over his shoulder. "Would you lay that rifle on a table and then," two fingers out, "simply compress the trigger?"

xxx

It is Wednesday afternoon when Shepherd assembles the four Alpha Shift teams in MTAC. No enemy had moved upon the hanger to recover the Photon Density Converter, which has been transported to join its fellow in a secured bunker at Norfolk. They pray they will never face the kind of threat as to require two Ultimate Weapons. Shepherd had been furious when she'd learned the potential consequences of the planned use of the PDC/9 against the USS Millennium. That someone could devise a weapon with such catastrophic consequences for the user, she doesn't have suitable words for that plot.

"Hagain and the other technicians were captured without resistance," Gibbs reports, believing everyone knows this and other details. Useful though these summary briefings are, they've always strained his patience. He'd much rather be out in the field learning and doing things, feeling that the distribution of crib notes to anyone else is quite enough.

But he's not running this meeting. It he were, they wouldn't even be here long enough to step off the ramps.

"Jackson McGillicuddy is either as far in the unknown wind as ever, or in an office at the Pentagon," DiNozzo says.

"Any more update on if the SECVAV's the enemy?" Rosemary Hauss asks.

"No," Shepherd says. "Karen Wetzel, aka McKnight, is established as one of three Interns in Jarvis' Pentagon offices. We have to wait."

"We've captured 23 men at the Hanger," Kevin Lamb says. "We've split them as much as we can but even with CID, OSI and CGIS helping we're looking at more than a month."

"Going to be a lot longer," Gibbs counters. "After Court and the others, we have to assume _everyone_ is programmed. Good news for Special Agent Spears, though; we got Hagain."

"How are Borin and Mann?" Melanie Kelman asks.

"Abby Borin has been released from hospital," Shepherd says. "She's got two broken ribs, she's home but she'll be out for the next month. Her family is livid. Colonel Mann wasn't as seriously injured. She's returned to work," she looks to Gibbs, "and wants me to remind you she'll be ready for you to pick her up to escort her to the party this evening."

She'd said this openly to drive home to Gibbs that he has no choice about attending the event, and she can read in his expression how grateful he is for the public reminder.

"Let's hope with that party we'll be able to put at least a few things behind us," McGee prays.

"We will, Tim," Tony predicts, his mind on this being his and Jeanne Benoit's last social occasion with their friends as a couple. "We will."

x

Shepherd looks to Lamb. "How is Lisa?"

"Director, I hesitate to say. Let's leave it that she's got a lot to recover from."

"All right." She knows she'll receive more details as appropriate, and acknowledges that there are some she may be privy to sometime much later.

Definitely N.T.K.

"Now, I want you to look at these." At her gesture to the technician at the left wall, nine sketched images appear, three by three, on the huge screen.

"Who are they?" Janet asks.

"Don't you recognize them, Agent Levy? That's Jackson McGillicuddy, as described separately by the Bachman family, the Esposito family, Jeremy Cintron and Rita Fischer."

"'Bout what I expected," Gibbs says.

The only things the nine images have in common are that they're of men and those men are not young.

"The scientists saw him a total of two times, at the start of their captivity, the rest of them once when Chloe Bachman was shot as a lesson for obedience. That incident came out most strongly."

"Well that guy," DiNozzo says, pointing to the middle row left, "is Neal McDonough. He plays Damien Dahrk on 'Arrow' and 'Legends of Tomorrow'."

"That one," Hauss points to the upper middle, "could pass for Jarvis if you knocked off ten years and twenty pounds."

Tony turns to Ziva for her input. "'Well, I was going to say I saw a ducky and a horsie, but I changed my mind'."

"Nice 'Boy named Charlie Brown'."

Shepherd has had enough. "Agents McGee and Palmer, in the morning check the toll booths on those days on the roads to and from Potomac Airfield, see if you find a match."

"I'm betting on the hor–" In time Michelle catches Shepherd's glare. "Yes, ma'am."

"Until then, we've scheduled another round of interviews later this morning. Maybe we can clear some of this up. Until then, everyone has worked very hard, so we're going to celebrate our victory such as we have it. We have appointments this evening, so I'm declaring a holiday starting at fourteen hundred. Everyone go home and get ready." She catches Gibbs' eyes, her own warning of the mistake of volunteering to work through the evening.

Hollis Mann will not take his generosity kindly.


	10. End of an Era

Chapter Ten  
End of an Era

The Grand Ballroom of the Navy Yard Catering and Conference Center is, on this Wednesday evening, given over to NCIS' First Annual 'Agent of the Year Awards' Night Dinner and Dance.

Up to this year the Awards Ceremony, where recognitions in a variety of fields were made, had been a very low key event normally held in the Second Floor Briefing Room and both the Awards themselves and the attendance had always reflected that low key format. The Awards were framed Certificates and Service Medals and while the first two events filled the wisely chosen small room – fifty people can appear a crowd in a closet – recent years had witnessed a steady decline to where on many occasions the recipients themselves did not attend and the only adjectives Jennifer Shepherd could assign to last year's event were frustrating and lonely.

Then Cynthia Sumner had approached her with the idea to revamp the entire operation. The first step was to enhance the quality of the Awards to wood mounted golden plaques engraved with the recipiant' s name, award name and date under representations of the round and colorful NCIS sigil, things that recipients would be honored to receive. The idea of one Agent of the Year was abandoned in favor of one from each of the twelve MCR teams and then from each Department from Accounting through Threat Awareness, each Supervisor designating one of their own to step into the spotlight.

The next step was to set aside an evening rather than a half hour in the Briefing Room. This Hall was reserved and a band engaged.

Then the wives, husbands and significant others were individually and formally Invited through mailed contacts, urged to attend and to make sure their counterparts brought them to the key Social Occasion of the Year.

For those that have them, Dress Uniforms were strongly recommended, some requiring unpacking and alterations while, for those who did not, Tuxedo Shops and Dressmakers alike enjoyed an unexpected burst of profitable activity.

x

1800 strikes with a Reception in the Hall's anteroom where guests sip cocktails or indulge in somewhat stronger spirits and receive their table assignments for the 1900 commencement, where the guests are played in by members of the Marine Corps Band.

Where Gibbs wears his Dress Gunnery Sergeant Uniform with Sniper emblem, which no one is surprised fits after so many years, and other men and women are resplendent in a variety of Dress Uniforms, the majority of gentlemen appear in several subtly different black tuxedos really distinguished only by various understated lapel pins, Award and Medal bars being the most distinguishing features. Several who have already received AOY bars have dug them out of drawers for the occasion.

Understatement is the common theme among the gentlemen because no one tries to vie with the rainbow that highlights the women's gowns. For agents whose normal attire is minimized, the collection of elegant gowns threatens to send shockwaves through those who know the ladies best.

Perhaps the most effective antithesis of her normal appearance is the snow white gown Abby Sciuto presents.

The affectionate white gown halts at her knees, perches on the edges of her shoulders and plunges to a depth that adds new dimension to the word daring. If she shrugs wrong or even sneezes this could be her most memorable night. This, combined with even whiter high heeled slippers, serves to reinforce the impression Tim McGee had of her aboard the Pacific Princess when, somewhat stunned, he'd christened her 'Antimatter Abby'.

In fact, black is not to be found among any of the women who not only congregate with their teams but among one another and the various wives and girlfriends of the male agents.

Predictably, the conversations the men overhear range from general socializing to the comparisons of the elegant gowns and the sources thereof.

At one point Ziva, Michelle, Jeanne Benoit and Siobhan McGee find themselves congregated about table 13. It's close to 14 where Hollis Mann (at 13 with Gibbs) and Jordan Hampton (at 14 as Ducky's guest) encounter Samantha Sky standing between a seated Bill Marsters and Abby Sciuto. As the artist and Gallery owner has met Gibbs, DiNozzo and McGee, she's granted he won't have much luck mingling and keeps a mental clock running on how soon she'll have to rescue him.

Janet Levy is one of those filling out 14 together with Kevin Lamb. They're 'Stag and Doe' even as the arrangement would have been had the SSA escorted Lisa DuBois as it had originally been intended. Dating lives are difficult enough to arrange without throwing in the complications of varying 24/7 jobs, the details of which cannot be discussed.

This is an opportunity for the ladies to shine, and occasionally discreetly flaunt, such as the replica of the blue gown Ziva wore as a lounge singer on an Overseas Mossad Op, but Siobhan's scarlet, Michelle's royal blue, Jeanne's lavender and Jordan's gold do not surprise anyone who knows them.

Predictably, much of the conversation starts with welcomes to Janet Levy and concern and the search for news about Lisa DuBois. When Janet mentions that she had been chosen by Lamb a few weeks ago as their team's Agent of the Year, a clear ploy on his part to both recognize her for her service and to coax her back into harness, she'd firmly nixed the idea in favor of Lisa's receiving the honor. That this had happened before the tragic shooting makes the moment more poignant.

Neither woman should have suffered the tragedies they've experienced this year.

x

The signal that the evening is formally begun is given by the five piece band's fanfare and, when eyes are turned to the edge of the dance floor Jennifer Shepherd and Siobhan McGee, their red gowns a coincidence (Shepherd's is the deeper red one she wore to the Marine Corps Birthday Gala under Ducky's escort while Siobhan's is a more vibrant though not as demonstrative style), Shepherd welcomes the Agents and their loved ones to the First Annual Awards Dinner Dance, introduces the members of the band and then asks all present to rise and give their attentions to the Invocation.

"Father, we thank you for this evening of Honor and Celebration, for Friendships new and renewed. Tonight we gather to honor our fellows who are as much honored in our hearts, and we ask you to bless and keep them. Bless this food to our use, our lives to thy continued service. And we ask you most especially to bless, comfort and care for Lisa DuBois and all who love her, and we ask that you guide the hearts and hands of those who minister to her, that she may return to us whole in body and spirit. Amen."

The acknowledgment comes back in many traditions and languages.

"Thank you, Reverend," Shepherd says and Siobhan returns to table 13.

"This evening there won't be any Speeches–" thunderous applause threatens the many windows which surround them, "except for the Brevities at the actual Presentations of the Awards, which will commence after the soup and salad. Enjoy."

x

Conversations throughout the many large tables continues through the appetizer. Abby, at table 14, notices under Sammy's seat her violin case. "What, are you working tonight?"

"Kinda," the petite blonde woman replies. "Not a lot, but I've been asked by someone to play a little something special for someone."

"Do tell."

"Will not. You'll see later."

x

At table 13, Tony reaches into the jacket of his tuxedo and, with some difficultly, pries loose a large and thick envelope and passes it to Jeanne with a finger point for her to pass it on to Gibbs. "Siobhan and Tim, that envelope is for you two." When it passes on from Hollis to Tim he finds it to be quite densely packed, but when he examines it not only is it sealed but tape lines every inch of space on the folds. It's an unnecessary but very effective way of ensuring that while the envelope won't be perfectly protected from intrusion, it cannot be opened without detection. "But there's one provision: you may _not_ open it until after Church this Sunday morning. Until then, you'd better handle it, Siobhan, because we both know your husband can't be trusted when it comes to a mystery."

"I can be trusted."

"Of course you can, darling." She pushes it into her purse.

xx

The time for the Award Presentations at hand, a large table laden with low boxes is carried in and placed beside the band. Shepherd displays the first wooden plaque with NCIS Sigil above a golden Presentation plate and, when called upon in what seems no particular order, Division Supervisors and Team Leaders advance in turn with their Honorees to receive the unboxed awards from the Director. The first Supervisor reads in full the text of the plaque to his partner, each presenter in turn including a brief synopsis of Service and why this man or woman has been selected for this honor. After a few presentations it becomes clear that the boxes are arranged alphabetically by Supervisor.

In due course, Gibbs and David go up, later Higgins and Kirchner, Kelman and Templeton; all the presentations, including many words of embellishment, are met with general applause always centered in specific parts of the hall.

But when Kevin Lamb escorts Janet Levy to the table and announces that the Award is being received by her for Lisa DuBois the standing applause threatens the stability of the chandelier and runs for so long, ebbs and then reflows so many times that Lamb is unable to recount the woman's record. No one needs it, everyone is quite satisfied with her worth. By the time it fades to eventual silence, neither Levy nor Lamb can speak but, hugging one another, they bear the symbol, carried by renewed waves of support, to their table.

x

Dinner is served then, as it is inconceivable that future awards can follow that outpouring of emotion with due honor to later recipients without a break.

The presentations continue after most have dined and in due time the ceremony is concluded. But as Shepherd awaits the removal of the table - she intends to thank Cynthia Sumner, also a Recipient - and her team for all their hard work in planning and implementing the evening, Tony DiNozzo escorts Jeanne Benoit and Sammy Sky, violin in her hand, up to her.

"Director, might we have a moment?"

Shepherd has lowered the microphone to her side so she can tell the agent that "This isn't a good time."

"Trust me."

She decides she can either refuse and the tableaux appear very uncomfortable or she can trust her agent. She turns over the microphone to him and takes a step back, 'you had better know what you're doing' shining in her eyes.

"Good evening. For those of you who don't know me, you're extremely lucky." A spattering of chuckles. "I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, this is Dr. Jeanne Benoit and our accompanist is Dr. Samantha Sky and we are here on an Errand of Mercy."

He lets that percolate for a moment as Sammy readies her violin.

"A very good friend of, well, of many of us, has decided that here, tonight, is the perfect moment to Pop the Question to the love of his life." Applause and a lot of turning of heads as the mysterious couple is sought out. In that moment a waiter carries out a wireless microphone for Jeanne. "He wanted Romance, he wanted Surprise, and he wanted his friends and colleagues to be the split second to know.

"He turned to me for help, and how could I turn that down? So with my assistants, and your indulgence, we'll get him and his Lady Love onto the floor."

x

Sammy plays the first bars as Tony steps away from the band and raises the microphone, following no course among the tables. "Someday, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight."

Jeanne steps out and follows her own undirected course, but as she doesn't know who she's looking for she searches the men's faces, hoping that if she's the one to pass close he'll identify himself. "You're lovely, with your smile so warm, and your cheek so soft, there is nothing for me but to love you, just the way you look tonight."

Tony, in his meandering path, continues his verse and passes table 13 but Gibbs, despite the expression on Hollis' face, doesn't move. He looks pointedly to McGee and Palmer, but Tim puts his arm around Siobhan's shoulder and pulls her close, mouthing 'Too late' while Michelle, holding Jimmy's hand in both of hers, silently tells him that 'He's taken.' "With each word, your tenderness grows, tearing my fears apart. And that laugh that wrinkles your nose touches my foolish heart."

Jeanne has passed many tables in her meandering path, not really having expected to have found anyone. She's sure the couple is in Tony's sector and he's killing time before he latches onto the couple and brings them up on the last verse as they'd rehearsed. "Lovely, never ever change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it 'cause I love you just the way you look tonight."

Their slow wanders continue, Sammy playing a loving accompaniment as they search the tables in no particular order.

After two verses, Tony picks up "With each word, your tenderness grows, tearing my fears apart. And that laugh that wrinkles your nose touches my foolish heart."

x

Having reached the last table, no more finding the couple than she'd expected, it's time for the Reveal and Jeanne starts slowly across the wide dance floor, singing the last verse in duet with Tony: "Lovely, never ever change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it 'cause I love you just the way you look tonight."

She's walking back and the last lingering notes "just the way you look tonight" blend in a duet that almost falters when she sees he's returning alone.

At the bandstand, again beside Sammy, they're alone and repeat that last phrase in duet, but no one has moved. Unfulfilled anticipation hangs thick in the air.

Jeanne looks about the room. What went wrong? Sammy plays out the last notes, the final echo of the final line. Jeanne looks to Jennifer standing a few feet away. What happened? She looks to Sammy who shrugs quite helplessly, embarrassment heavy in her eyes.

She sees Shepherd angle her gaze low. She turns.

Tony?

He's gone down on one knee, raises to her a small blue box, lifts it open, a silver band and clear faceted gem twinkle in the thousand lights.

Her breath trembles. The entire world must be vibrating. This cannot be–

"Jeanne, would you do me the honor, and grant me the greatest joy, by consenting to become my wife?"

x

She can't speak. She tries. She tries over and over but, lips apart, nothing can be forced through her trembling breaths. Shaking, staring at him past the upraised symbol, she's finally fortunate that they both hold their microphones for the whisper forced out is very tiny yet fills the room. "Yes!"

x

Pandemonium rules as Tony and Jeanne barely finish the giving and receiving of the ring when it seems a hundred celebrating women fill a space that a score would overflow. The men arrive somewhat more sedately but their enthusiasm is as heartfelt.

The next on the planned agenda prior to the desert course had been dancing and that commences with Jeanne and Tony, by tacit agreement of all present, taking the first turn on the floor and the surprisingly enhanced celebration continues.

oo

The evening had been anticipated to end by 2200 but very few seem inclined to depart after the deserts have been removed.

But Jennifer Shepherd steps beside the band, takes and lightly taps the microphone, the rhythmic alerts capturing attention. "Would you please take your seats?" As the revelers comply, she says "I have an announcement, not that I think it can top that earlier one but it is important."

Her serious tone tamps down the spirits of the guests, but she waits until everyone is seated and their attentions are locked.

"This is a very special night, notwithstanding Tony and Jeanne and my sincerest Congratulations to you both," encore applause, "but this announcement had been a planned one.

"We have been together for along time but, like the man says, 'nothing lasts forever'. Would Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs please rise?"

He does so, resplendent in his Dress Uniform but his expression is utterly serious. Concern mounts throughout the huge room, but on Abby Sciuto's face is not concern but devastation. Nothing lasts forever?

"As many of you know, several months ago the Special Agent-in-Charge of the Pensacola Office stepped down and his Deputy took the post pro-tem, as she was already approaching Retirement. Now she too is stepping down effective Monday coming and that necessitated a Search for her successor. It was a lengthy search but I believe it resulted in the selection of the best man to take over the reins.

"It gives me great pleasure and satisfaction to present to you, effective Monday 0900, the new Special Agent-in-Charge of NCIS Pensacola, Florida.

Applause stuffs the room but Gibbs immediately sits down, unable to miss the devastation on Abby's face, but where the applause would normally follow him as he walked up to stand beside the Director, the accolades fade and silence is heavy as everyone in the room holds their collective breath.

What happened?

Anthony DiNozzo stands up.

x

It takes several seconds for the collective mental reset before the applause, as heavy as the last time he was up front, crashes through the room. But while the celebration is general, it's loudest from tables 13 and 14.

Tim McGee, however, notices one thing absent from his wife's expression, the surprise that characterizes most of the room. "You knew."

"Yes, a grá, I knew. He came to Saint Mary's the other day to ask for advice, but I was sworn to secrecy."

Michelle is in position to see across the room to Tina Larsen's utter astonishment, and she recalls the woman had said her promotion and transfer to take over Document Analysis in Pensacola had been handled through the director.

Tony embraces Jennifer, kisses her left cheek before he accepts the microphone from her.

"Thank you, Director Shepherd. Thank you one and all. Sorry for the misdirection, but I think you'll agree it was effective." More applause.

"I think …" he needs a moment, "that if I tried to say what's in my heart at this moment you'd see a grown man break down and cry.

"I love you all, and there's no way to follow that up. And when winter hits here in about four months I hope you'll think of me and my lovely bride, in sunny Florida, as warmly as I think of you in this minute."

He has to lower the microphone by his leg for a few moments.

x

"I wish now that I'd asked my partner McWordsmith, and I promise you that's the final one, to write a nice speech for me but I'd have to have told him why and he never could keep a secret. But the one thing you do keep, Tim, is friendship. I love you man."

He needs more seconds to continue.

"Ziva, you have been a challenge to my dictionary but never to my spirit. I wish I could tell you how, since those first minutes when we met and you played so well with my head, that it was all the very best, every moment.

"Michelle, our Probette, you have been a wonder and on some days I almost came close to figuring you out. You're destined for great things, this I know, and I wish I could be here to see some of them. And you'd better send me that Birth Announcement.

"Leroy… Jethro... Gibbs, Deputy Special Agent-in-Charge…. Hey, I outrank you now! My mentor, my confidant, you kept me on the straight and narrow," he rubs the back of his head with a whispered 'ow', "and I think that my standing here this minute is so much your doing. Your teaching, your guidance, your friendship, your…."

His face crumples and, having reached his last with a hundred more people to single out, he hands the microphone back to Jennifer, stands with arms wide and his breaking voice fills the room. "I LOVE YOU ALL!"

End

Of An Era

Next Episode: Hit and Run: It has been a fortnight since Tony DiNozzo departed for Florida and his successor, Alexandra Quinn, is getting used to the differences between Glynco, GA and Washington DC. But when a Naval Commander is involved in a hit and run she learns Rule #64.


End file.
